The Printed Press
by Soupy George
Summary: Draco Malfoy was still slightly amazed that he was standing on the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He never would have thought that Harry Potter's very public and very ... sweary, emotional explosion would have led to him offering Draco, of all people, a job. DM/HP Rated for language, themes and mild sexual content
1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy was still slightly amazed that he was standing on the doorstep of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He never would have thought that Harry Potter's very public and very, _sweary_ emotional explosion would have led to him offering Draco, of all people, a job.

Draco was an in-house reporter for the Daily Prophet, a career choice that had surprised a great many people. But, he had always been fascinated by the control the media had over the public, one disparaging article in the Prophet and the subject of said article was ruined. Three hundred words between hero and pariah. It certainly seemed to Draco to be the best way to mould the world he lived in.

In the five years since the Dark Lord had been killed by his own rebounding curse, Draco had worked tirelessly to gain a reputation of presenting both sides of every story he submitted for print, to prove that he would not be swayed by public opinion or fear mongering. And it was working, he was the most requested interviewer the Prophet employed.

The irony of a former Death Eater striving for the fair presentation of facts was not lost on Draco. But the truth was that if he hadn't seen the public at their most manipulated and frightened, mostly through media coercion – with a side of torture and kidnapping – he would never have applied for the position. He was determined to raise the tone.

It was not _purely_ for the good of the wizarding population that Draco strove for a higher quality of newspaper, he had been in Slytherin for a reason after all. But the benefit to himself was not something he would share willing with anybody, and thankfully his occulmency skills were still strong enough that he would never have to. Providing the truth was his private penitence. His way of apologising for all the evil he took part in, and with apology came the easing of his guilt – a rather large benefit he thought.

After completing his house arrest – handed down for Death Eater offences committed while under age, he'd never thought he'd be grateful for being stupid enough to take the Dark Mark, and commit his only recorded crimes before he turned seventeen, but he most certainly was – he had begun his employ with the Prophet. That had been three years ago, and in that time, among the truth revealing exposés and tell-all interviews Draco had found something new to worry about - the press storm tracking Harry Potter's every move.

Not that he _cared_ of course, but he found it distasteful that Potter had no privacy, even five years after he saved the bloody world. '_But why should he?'_ was the common argument Draco faced every time he mentioned how uncomfortable he was with the level of intrusive reporting that went on in the offices of the Daily Prophet. But, as old bully hacks like Skeeter were fond of saying, _'Potter is our saviour, so he's public property._'

Draco was obviously in a small amount of personal debt to Potter. Potter with all his heroic life-saving from deadly fires and sentence-reducing testifying to the Wizengamot, et cetera, et cetera. But Draco's mother's actions at the end of the war had helped – Draco felt – to reduce the debt the name of Malfoy owed Potter. This debt might also have something to do with Draco's decision to raise the expected standard of reporting at the Prophet, but it wouldn't do to speculate.

* * *

Draco had been looking forward to the annual celebrations to be held on the second of May. Five years seemed something of a milestone. It was long enough ago to be only thought of occasionally, and Draco did like to forget that part of his life as often as possible. He was attending a party held at Greengrass Moor, the home of his in-laws. He didn't know that Potter – through some connection of his Weasley girlfriend – had also received an invitation.

Draco had found himself at a party with more ex-Gryffindors than he was comfortable with, and had spent most of it away from the main crowd chatting up the exotic coat-check boy – out of sight of Greengrasses senior of course, who were as unaware of Draco's penchant for cock as they were of their daughter – Draco's wife Astoria – and her love of fanny. Theirs was a marriage for the purposes of parental placation, and it suited them fine.

Draco had consumed enough of the Greengrass's liquor to be wondering if this smiling foreign coat-boy would do a bit more than grin at him if he got him somewhere more private when it had happened.

The event that had brought him to Potter's front door.

Potter had stormed passed Draco and the coat boy, telling his Weasley girlfriend in an annoyed slur to leave him alone. Draco could not help but admire Potter a little, even drunk and in a grouch he was pleasant to look at these days.

No longer the runty boy Draco remembered from school but a broad-shouldered man with a dusting of ever present stubble on his cheeks and chin. His glasses had been updated too, but the same untameable hair made him recognisable anywhere. He was not as tall as Draco was he realised as Potter blew by, trying to shoo Ginny with one hand and throw back his drink with the other. His green dress robes billowed enough for Draco to see, to his amusement, that the man wore lace up canvas high-tops instead of the expected dress shoe. Draco looked down at his own hand stretched Italian leather and smiled, muggles really did make better shoes than wizards. Potter had disappeared around the corner into the main party and Draco had heard the metaphorical fireworks erupt.

"I don't give a fuck if you think the public has a _right to know_ Cuffe!" Harry shouted at Draco's boss Barnabas Cuffe, Editor in Chief of the Prophet. Draco had poked his head into the ballroom to see Potter gesturing wildly with his now empty glass, "they don't! I saved the whole damn lot of you and this is how I'm repaid? With bullshit stories and rumours spread about my life? Don't I deserve a little fucking privacy? The lot of you, nosy fucking wankers!" his glass exploded in his fist on the last word and Draco was rather impressed with the theatrics. The crowd had gone deathly silent as Barnabas cowered under Potter's furious rage. Draco had seen Granger tottering as fast as her heels would allow in Potter's direction. She grabbed him by the arm and steered him from the packed room, Potter had still been ranting, albeit at a much lower level.

This was the last time Harry Potter had been seen in public, it was now the middle of July and Draco was not the only person to have been curious of Potter's whereabouts. Every day there would be some farfetched article printed about Potter – that he was locked up in St Mungo's spell damage ward, or that he had fled the country after what Draco's colleges called his "disgraceful behaviour." Draco found that he actually didn't resent Potter nearly as much as he used to, it was nice to know the perfect git was human after all.

Draco had been very surprised when an owl he recognised from Hogwarts as the pigmy bird belonging to Ron Weasley delivered to him, a tightly rolled slip of parchment from the supposedly mad, or perhaps country fleeing, Potter.

_Malfoy,_

_I would like to meet with you to discuss a possible business venture, it will benefit your career like you won't believe. Send your reply via return owl and we can go from there._

_Potter_.

Draco found this odd and suspicious, but Potter was, well _Potter_ and now Draco had a reason to talk to him. The Daily Prophet would sell out if Draco could get some proper information on the man and write a decent article. Not just the "a source close to Mr Potter" rubbish they'd been printing for the last ten weeks. Draco therefore replied quickly to Potter's note.

_Potter,_

_This better not be a joke, I can meet you a ten on Tuesday morning. Take it or leave it. _

_Malfoy_

It wouldn't do to seem _eager._

Potter had agreed to the time, and this was how Draco came to be standing at Potter's front door. Draco knocked the brass knocker on the door of Number Twelve Grimmauld place at precisely ten am.

There was a clicking and grinding of many bolts and locks and the door swung inward to reveal the most decrepit elf Draco had ever seen. Its greying skin hung in folds from his bones, and there was a very large amount of snow white puffy hair growing from each ear that made Draco wonder how he could hear the door knocker at all.

"Master Malfoy," the elf said, forcing his creaking bones into a low bow, "it is an honour to have you in this house."

Draco felt that this was an odd greeting, even though for some reason the house _was_ familiar to him. Not so much what he could see inside the entrance way with its light coloured wood staircase and pale walls, but the when he had stood on the front step he had the most bizarre déjà vu as he looked up at the soot-stained frontage.

"I am here to see Mr Potter, I have an appointment at ten." Draco said.

"Yes of course, please follow Kreacher," the elf said stepping aside and allowing Draco to pass him into the entrance. "Master Harry will not be long, he asked me to make sure Mr Malfoy is comfortable while he waits."

Draco bristled, he did not want to give Potter the upper hand in this meeting, whatever it was for Draco would be the one in control. "I'm am a busy man," he said. "I do not have time to sit waiting until Potter sees fit to meet me. You can tell _Master Harry_ to contact me at my office." He spun on his heel and marched out the front door again.

He was only half way along the front walk and regretting every step, when the door behind him opened and a voice said, "Malfoy! Sorry I was trapped talking to – never mind, do you still have time to talk to me?"

Draco grit his teeth, "Yes Potter, I have time." He muttered as he turned and walked back towards the house.

"Oh good," Harry sighed. Draco scowled at him as he passed, Harry just smiled nervously and Draco wanted to hit him. "I'm grateful you came," Harry said, stepping around Draco to lead him up the staircase, "I didn't think you would, thought you'd be laughing all the way to Gringotts with the crap your lot could print about me now."

"That's why I'm here," Draco said. "Because whatever the reason you have asked me here is, I'm now the only reporter you have spoken with in nearly three months. Even if we just have tea and crumpets I will have accurate information to print about you."

"Accurate," Harry said with a little nod, "exactly." He pushed open the door to a long room, lit by long sash windows that looked out over the small and unkempt square outside, there were framed photographs of Gryffindors all over the walls and Draco felt for the first time like he was on enemy territory. The elf was already present and pouring tea, and Harry gestured for Draco to sit.

Striving to appear unruffled and at ease despite tens of pairs of unfriendly eyes watching him, Draco sat on one of the wide couches and accepted his tea from the elf, he took a sip then placed it on the table in front of him. Then he took his notebook and quill from his satchel, flipped it open and looked expectantly at Potter.

The elf had delivered Harry a cup and saucer too, and he murmured, "Thanks Kreacher, we'll be fine for a while, I'd like for you to have a rest now."

"Yes Master." Kreacher said, and he bowed again in Draco's direction before he vanished with a resounding crack.

Draco found the whole scene to be completely odd, and it must have shown on his face because Harry said, "He's not feeling well, but the silly git won't rest unless I order him too, so," he shrugged, "I order him to."

"Noble Potter," Draco said, barely catching the sneer before is slipped out. Why should Potter being nice to his elf make Draco want to roll his eyes? Lots of people were nice to their house elves, it was just so _Potter_ of him. "We're here for business," Draco said, forcing his voice to sound pleasant once more, "What can I do for you?"

"I've had an idea," he said, "You were there that night, at Greengrass Moor, when I …" he trailed off looking embarrassed

"When you told everyone they ought to be fucking grateful and leave you the hell alone? Yes, it's one of my fondest memories." Draco wasn't trying to annoy, it was true, the image of Potter swearing at Draco's idiot, fame-whore of a boss was something that never failed to make him smile.

Harry flushed, "I didn't mean it, not in the way it came out, and certainly I didn't mean to shout it at the editor of the Prophet."

"Potter," Draco said calmly, "if you want me to write and print an apology from you I'm sorry, but I won't. I've spent to long earning a reputation to ruin it with that sort of nonsense."

"No, no, that's not what I want." Harry said shaking his head and causing his hair to flop about, "I think I was poisoned at the reception, I would never normally say those things –"

"Merlin, that's the worst excuse I've ever heard!" Draco snapped his notebook shut, feeling irked that Potter was mad after all, "absolutely not. Go and see Xeno if you want someone to print tripe for you."

"Malfoy, just listen please, this isn't about that, the poison, or whatever happened that night – I promise."

"I'm listening," Draco said, "get a move on Potter, I have things to do."

"Okay, okay," Harry said, flapping his tea free hand at Draco, "it won't take long. Alfred Worple approached me about doing an auto-biography last month," Harry said, "I'd love to know how he found me, but anyway, he seemed to think if people were reminded just how … er, saviour-y, I was once upon a time then the hate mail might die down. I told him no because I don't know him, but I think he may have had a point, not that I want to appear saviour-y but I _was_ sick and tired of the badgering before the anniversary, and of the lies printed about me, and all the bullshit." Draco nodded, he already knew he and Potter were on the same page when it came to that.

"I thought that if I commissioned someone to write my life story, the real one, no embellishments, just the facts, then maybe people wouldn't be so keen to fill in the gaps with nonsense."

Draco stared for a moment, "Are you serious Potter?" He fought to keep his face impassive, Draco could see quite clearly where this was going and it was a million times better than his article about the fallen saviour and his crumpets.

"Very," Harry said. "I like your articles, your style, I've never read anything of yours that didn't come across as believable fact."

Draco was trying very hard not to look too pleased at the praise, or think about why it should feel so good to hear it from Potter. "You make me sound like old Binns _solid believable fact_, you won't make any money from a dry, factual account of your life. People won't buy if it reads like an encyclopaedia."

Harry gave him a funny look, the corner of his mouth twitched as though he wanted to smile, "I'll give the proceeds to charity anyway, it's not like I need more money. And _my_ life fact by fact still wouldn't be dry reading, I think you'll remember that I once broke out of Gringotts while riding a dragon?"

Draco snorted in an effort not to laugh, "Well," he said, "you may have a point there Potter."

"So, that's why I asked to meet with you, I wanted to know if you're available for hire. I know it would be quite an undertaking, so I understand if it's not possible but …." he looked hopefully at Draco.

"Just to be clear," Draco said, "You wish to tell your life story in the hope that it will satiate the wizarding world's obsession with you, and make them forgive you for calling them fucking ingrates."

"I never called them that!" Harry interrupted.

Draco flipped a hand in dismissal and smirked, "Well whatever you said, you hope this book will, what? Distract them? Or actually just remind them that technically everything you said was true, and maybe they should treat you and your personal life with a bit more respect?"

"A bit of both," Harry said, "I don't – well, to be honest I'd just like them to get bored with me so I can have a normal life, so hopefully information overload might do that, they won't be able to speculate on my life if there are no gaps, if there is a written record that can't be disputed."

Draco was surprised, Potter was quite possibly onto something. There could be no more rumours about his past if he willing told everyone everything. He tapped his quill against the edge of the notebook as he said, "But I despise you Potter, our animosity at school is famous, why would anyone read something written about you by someone that hates you?"

Harry's forehead was crinkled in disbelieving frown, '"Er, that's _exactly_ why – they all want more reason to hate me at the moment and will assume that you would never write anything flattering about me…."

Draco felt mildly foolish for not realising that himself. "I'm not cheap Potter," he said to cover his embarrassment, "and you'll have to tell me, _me_ every dirty little secret, no matter its relevance to the book."

Harry nodded "Yes I know. Not that I have any proper secrets anyway."

"We'll see," said Draco. "I'll want more than just your version of events where possible, as many points of view as I can get."

"Sure," Harry said, "Ron will be dead chuffed at having to sit down with you."

Draco twitched uncomfortably at the impending gryffin-fest he would have to endure, "My price just doubled."

Harry grinned, "Well, you should thank Hermione for making you so wealthy then, it was her idea to ask you."

"That's a relief," Draco said, "I thought you'd actually developed some intelligence for a moment."

Harry smiled at him, "Heaven forbid," he said. "So you'll do it?"

"I'll _have_ my solicitor draw up a contract, owl me your legal advisors details so they can correspond. If you're happy with my proposal we will begin." Draco stood from his seat and gathered his things. It was unsettling to have Potter looking at him with no distain or suspicion like at school, Draco thought as he made his way back down stairs, Potter following in his wake. Directly after the war the green eyes had been filled with pity instead of anger in their brief meetings. This was certainly an improvement. It was as though Potter had truly moved on from all of that, something that Draco was not expecting, he had thought Potter would use him for his reputation, put the history aside, rather than just ignore it completely as he seemed to be doing.

Draco turned as he reached the door and held out his hand, Harry shook it and Draco said, "I know we progressed passed the hexing and name-calling a while ago Potter but I was not expecting to enjoy our meeting, I was mistaken."

The swallowing of twelve years' worth of one-upmanship and pride was quite worth it to see the stunned look on Potter's face. He rubbed his hand over his messy hair and stuttered, "Er… good. Me too?"

Draco found the surprised expression somewhat endearing, so he smiled properly at Potter for the first time, possibly ever, and said "My solicitor will be in touch." Before heading down the front steps and into the sunny July morning.

* * *

_Review? _

_George xx_


	2. Chapter 2

It took Cuthbert Higgs of the Diagon Alley solicitors, _Higgs, Smith and Sharfiq_ a week to draft a satisfactory contract to send to Potter's lawyer. Higgs assured Draco that every single facet of Potter's life was now legally available to him, and, most importantly, not to anybody else. For the next ten years via print, anyway.

Intriguingly, the contract was retuned, signed and agreed to with no amendments or additions, within two days of it being sent out. Either Potter's lawyer was an idiot or Potter actually trusted Draco. When he looked at the familiar name on the papers _Hermione Granger-Weasley, assistant counsel, Wizengamot_. Draco felt an unexpected jolt of pride at the obvious display of Potter's trust.

"Draco?" Barnabas Cuffe's voice called from his office, Draco had been sitting at his desk on the edge of the bullpen, flipping through the contract Potter had sent back so un-addendum'd, when he'd heard the Editor's summons.

Draco sighed and got to his feet, he truly detested Cuffe. The shallow pillock would do almost anything to sell a paper. But since it was his good will that had gotten Draco his job he was unfortunately forced to grin and bear it.

Old Cuffe had survived the aftermath of the war, job and reputation intact. Draco still wasn't sure how, because really, all the bullshit that the prophet printed in the last ten years had been signed off by Cuffe. He was as guilty of adding to the unhappiness of the wizards of Brittan as many of the Death Eaters in Azkaban. The thing about Cuffe was, even with his highly questionable tactics, and extremely flexible take on the phrase "ethical reporting" he still managed to be entertaining.

"What can I do for you Barny?" Draco asked, he leaned against the door frame of the office and hitched a smile on his face, he had a feeling that it looked more like a leer but in all honesty he didn't give a shit. Draco had his plan – before he was thirty he would have Cuffe's job, he was set on that. He was currently angling for equal status with Betty Braithwaite who was the Arts and Lifestyle Director, a prissy title for what was actually an important position. Everyone from the head of sports to the gaggle of advice columnists The Prophet employed reported to her. Draco was the authority on current events and political news, and his friend Marcus ran finance. Cuffe over saw the lot of them, including freelances like troll-face Skeeter and her bully bunch.

"Draco lad, I'm not a hundred percent on this." he held up what appeared to be Draco's last submission, an inquiry into suspected poaching in the Cotswolds of a medicinal water-dwelling grass, "are you sure there's no more to the story?"

"Reasonably," Draco said, "Trevor Mulligan was very cagey with me though, said Betty had been talking to him the day before – I don't know what she was doing out there … fishy if you ask me…" Draco said leadingly, trying to get a rise out of Cuffe.

"She thought it would go nicely as back ground on the area for the summer wedding locations spread," he said dismissively, "lots of the paddocks out there are rented for couples to transfigure their own gardens for ceremonies,"

"Not news," Draco said under his breath.

"Yes, yes," Cuffe said impatiently, "I know you're far more important with your truth telling."

Draco smirked, "I am."

"Importantness aside, this is a bit light," he waved the paper again, "it reads flat, and a story like this should be significant, Spikerush grass is used in most memory potions you know, I wouldn't be surprised if there is some dark activity going on there."

"You mean, you want the public to _think_ there is dark activity going on there." Draco said, of course Draco knew Spikerush was used in memory potions, he'd done his research, it was also a main ingredient in Veritaserum but that was beside the point, "Look, the stuff grows there wild," Draco said, "and it's so expensive to get at the apothecary Mulligan thought someone desperate for a bit of cash had come out and dug a bit up. That's all. If Riddle is back from the dead he'll hardly be on his hands and knees in Trev's run-off stream digging up pharmaceuticals."

Cuffe fixed Draco with a weary look, "Betty says Mulligan told her he'd seen some dodgy looking blokes hanging around, isn't that worth a second visit?"

Draco was absolutely sure both Cuffe and his bull-dog Betty were making up the 'dodgy blokes' to pad the story. "I'll see what I can do," Draco said, deciding to pick his battles, "I wanted to ask you a favour actually." he added.

"Of course," Cuffe said magnanimously, "you know your happiness is important to me." Draco raised a disbelieving eyebrow and Cuffe frowned, "Fine, you know your continuing to work for me, and help keep circulation up is important to me, how can I help?"

Draco wanted to smile at the Editor's candour, Cuffe and Draco's father had been dorm-mates at Hogwarts, this tended to afford Draco a bit more leniency than others got from his boss. "I've taken a sub-contract, writing an auto-biography, so I'll be out of the office a bit more often but I should still be able to manage my current job list." Draco said.

"Oh _whose_?" Cuffe said immediately, leaning forward his eyes glinting enthusiastically, "Will they give you authority for excerpt printing? You know it will be excellent for their sales."

Draco couldn't help but grin, "and ours, but we'll just have to wait on that. Only just got the contract back today."

"_Who_ Draco?" Cuffe pressed.

"And have to sue myself? Foolish man." Draco tutted and Cuffe looked most put out.

* * *

Harry grunted and tugged harder, "_Bastarding thing_," he snarled, as the weed he was trying to pull from the little garden at Grimmauld Place refused to budge.

Harry felt the term _weed_ could only be used in the loosest sense. The damn plant bared no resemblance to the small patches of bittercress he had plucked from Aunt Petunia's flower beds for most of his childhood. This monstrosity had vines as thick as Harry's arms and temperament similar to a Blast-ended Skrewt. It seemed quite resolute that it was staying in the soil.

"Fine!" he said, and released it. Its thick, sinuous branches curling in on itself once more. "You know," he said conversationally, flopping down on the grass at the garden edge and brushing earth from his knees, "I wrote to Neville about you," Harry wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but the plant seemed to still, as though listening. "He said if you won't be pulled out I should just reducto you," He gave the succulent a stern look. "Hard to hang on to the ground if you're in a hundred pieces."

Harry was quite sure he was walking the path to madness of late. But then, he supposed, that when you have no one to talk to except uppity weeds and a flu-riddled Kreacher it was not that surprising. He'd begun to appreciate the solitary existence Sirius had lived in this house in the months leading up to his death. But at least Harry's exile was self-imposed, sort of.

Ginny was travelling with The Harpies for the summer Quidditch season on the continent, he'd not seen her in person since the morning after the party that had got him into this mess. She was only able to floo once a week due to the strict feminist coach – _Fuhrer,_ Harry affectionately called her – and her rules about contact with the opposite sex: life-threatening situations only. Harry didn't mind, he would expect Ginny to put up with the same if their roles were reversed. He could admit he was getting bored of his own company lately though. Hermione and Ron's daughter Rose was six months old and a total time-vacuum for the couple. Rosie was a gorgeous wee thing, and Harry's god-daughter. But he was definitely looking forward to her being a bit older, there was a limit to how long a man could be expected to converse in coos.

Along with their daughter, Hermione's position with the Ministry and Ron's recent promotion in the Aurors it was quite understandable that their visits to Harry had dropped off. He had seen Hermione briefly when she'd explained the contract for his book to him, but that was a while ago now … he thought. Time passed in unexpected blocks for Harry at the moment. With no routine to speak of, the days disappeared quickly, but hours seemed to drag on at a pathetic pace.

This was how he'd ended up warring with the old knarled garden at the back of Grimmauld place. He needed something to fill his days. The garden was definitely urban-London-sized: tiny. But it contained enough mad and magically altered greenery to keep Harry on his toes.

He was excited today, Malfoy had arranged to start their sessions this afternoon. Harry wasn't sure what it would involve, this book writing lark. Hermione had already sent over an intimidating collection of folders and notes with instructions for him to start drafting his story. The indepthness of Hermione's work made Harry think that this biography was not a spur of the moment suggestion as it had originally seemed. He wondered how long she had been organising it, waiting for the right time to bring it up.

The fact that he was looking forward to a visit from Malfoy bothered Harry surprisingly little. His old rival seemed different the last time they met, still the same easy to rile temper, but Draco had lacked the bitterness that had always made up so much of his personality. Harry reasoned that if Malfoy could be pleasant and have a whole different life after the war, then he was a good person to be around – Harry himself was entirely unsure how to create a life separate from his past.

With lifted spirits at the thought of real actual human company in a few hours, Harry got to his feet and readied himself for another go at the reluctant weed.

* * *

The twenty fifth of July had begun as a normal summer's day. By two in the afternoon however the sun was beating down with desert-worthy fervour. Draco shucked his suit jacket as he waited for entry at Grimmauld Place. He was not sure what to expect of these meetings. He was a little apprehensive about having to listen to Potter boast about his life, and his version of certain events Draco had done his best to repress, but he was a professional. If he could listen to warty Trevor Mulligan talk about his stolen fucking waterweed, then he could handle this. At least Potter was decent to look at.

The bolts began to grind shortly after Draco knocked and the door was flung inward. Standing in the dim entryway was Potter, looking much better prepared for the sporadic London heat in a thin blue t-shirt that was covered in splashes of what looked like mud, with a broad grin on his face.

"Hi!" he said, somewhat breathlessly, "Come in," Draco stepped over the threshold as Harry continued "I'm worried you're going to regret agreeing to this, I have quite a bit of stuff for you already."

Taken aback by this light-hearted greeting, Draco's reply was sharper than he meant it to be. "I'm a journalist Potter, the more information the better." It was confusing to be greeted so pleasantly, like Potter really was pleased that he was going to be spending the afternoon with his old school nemesis. Draco didn't comment on the cheerfulness, perhaps Potter was a closet essence of euphoria addict, it wouldn't be polite to draw attention.

He followed Harry up through the house, they passed the room they had sat in last time and Draco paused, expecting to go in but Harry continued his upward march. They entered a room on the third floor, a well-equipped library. The walls were lined with books, a Granger worthy amount of books. There were thick rugs covering most of the timber floor, and an unusual assortment of furniture dotted around the room that didn't really make sense to Draco, but wasn't unappealing overall. "Is this Granger's bedroom in the house of Potter?" Draco asked.

Harry started to laugh, "Sometimes," he said. "I think it's her way of surviving without the Hogwarts library. I'm sure there used to much less books than this, she's been adding to it."

Draco put his jacket on the back of a tall winged armchair and said, "I'm surprised you would dedicate a room for this purpose," realising belatedly how condescending he sounded.

"I didn't choose it," Harry said lightly, not biting at the insult, "but I would have thought you'd know that – didn't you ever come here as a child?"

Draco frowned as he folded back the cuffs on his shirt, it was cooler in the house than on the baking front step, but not by much, "I wouldn't think so…" He said slowly.

"Your mother's aunt lived here, and probably heaps of her relatives, this is the old Black Family residence".

"It is?" Draco said interestedly, suddenly he had a flashing memory – a pale faced, dark haired crone of a woman reaching toward his cheek with black lacquered fingernails, he shuddered. "Thank you Potter," he said, "I think that memory could have stayed repressed."

Harry chuckled and said cryptically, "You're lucky you never had to see the portrait. Right," he said, clapping his hands together, his good mood almost palpable, "I didn't know how you wanted to do this, but I figured you'd need notes of some kind," he grimaced apoplectically, "when I say_ I_ I mean Hermione, she has also provided you with a timeline reference index," Harry gestured to a stack of ordinary muggle binders on the desk, and Draco felt his eyes widen, "I know," Harry said, "I feel almost irrelevant in the writing of my own story."

"I assure you that will not be the case." Draco said, taking a seat at the desk the folders were piled on. He pulled his papers from his satchel and said, "Granger was right, I will need a written account from you of all important events and residences, also the names of anyone and everyone who can corroborate, or give a differing point of view on the events." He looked down his list of requirements, "I will need a copy of that," he pointed his wand at the index folders and muttered _"Geminio"_ and duplicates popped into existence. "You will need to give one of these –" he riffled through his papers to find the form he was looking for, "– ah," he said, "one of these," he held the pages out to Harry, "to anyone you want me to speak to."

Harry was looking a little overwhelmed at the efficientness, "What is it?"

"Confidentiality Agreement, you really don't want anyone talking to the press before we've even got this off the ground."

Harry nodded. "Okay, anything else?"

Draco sighed, "Yes Potter." He retrieved several colour coded folders, "These are for your notes, blue for pre- Hogwarts so that's everything thing up to September '91. These," he flicked his thumb across a red, green, purple, yellow, orange and pink labelled stack, "are for each year at school, I thought it best to record in school years, September to June because it's easier to recall events that way. This," he indicated a black labelled folder, "is for July '97 through to May '98," Harry raised his eyebrows at the colour choice and Draco said, "It seemed fitting. And this one," he continued pointing to a gold stickered folder, "is for everything after."

"Very funny," Harry said.

"I thought so," Draco agreed, "you were dubbed the golden trio after all."

Harry rolled his eyes, and then said "Okay then, Hermione told me to write my notes in chronological order because I'd be less likely to forget things that way."

"She is correct," Draco said.

"Good, so I've done up to the end of '91, my first Christmas at Hogwarts." Harry sifted through the mounds of paper on the desk and found several sheets of parchment covered in what was obviously his own messy hand.

"Excellent," Draco said, taking them from him, "I'll have a look through this now if you don't mind me hanging about, I'd like to have a full draft done in two months, and that will be easier if you're recording the events in an easy to follow style, If I have any suggestions for changes I'll add them to this."

"No problem," Harry said, "do you want a drink or something? Ginny sent me some of that fancy Swiss Butterbeer for an early birthday present, it's great."

"I'm not a fan to be honest," Draco smiled, "but I'd love a cup of tea." he said, "You can't go wrong with tea."

"True," Harry agreed, "Kreacher has the flu, poor little bugger, so I'll go and make us some, milk and sugar?"

He nodded, and Harry left the room, Draco sighed to himself, he was struggling to reconcile this cheerful, grinning Potter with the one he thought he'd known for most of his life. It seemed over the top, and it made him wary, was Potter up to something? Had he developed a dependence on cheering charms? Maybe he really_ was_ using euphoria recreationally, it was all very suspicious.

Harry re-entered the library carrying a tea tray and Draco said suddenly, "Potter?" Harry looked at him and he asked, "Are you on drugs?"

"Er, no." Harry snorted, "Why?" he asked, as he put the tray on the edge of the desk and took a seat opposite Draco.

"Because, this is all so… _cordial,_" Draco burst out in frustration. "You do remember who I am? We spent most of our lives doing nasty and horrible things to each other?"

Harry nodded as he poured the tea, "I know, you're snarky, pointy Malfoy, I just don't want to care about that shit anymore."

"Pointy?" Draco said, mildly offended, "I think you mean well defined."

Harry shrugged, and gave a little snicker, "Whatever." He passed Draco a cup and said, "You've made it pretty obvious with all your unbiased news articles that you've changed a bit from the wanker who stomped on my face, and I figure if you can do that, why can't I be someone other than the idiot who nearly sliced you in half?"

"I suppose," Draco said slowly. "But those things _did_ happen, and it's not like we need to be friends to write this book."

"Yeah but…" Harry trailed off looking a little hurt as he stirred sugar into his tea.

"Merlin Potter," Draco grumbled, feeling a bit guilty, "anyone would think you had no friends."

"I don't really at the moment," he admitted, "Ginny is on the European summer circuit with their man hating coach, so obviously she doesn't get time to floo very often, Hermione calls when she can but they have the baby, and Ron has looked like he's about to pass out every time I've seen him." Harry smiled fondly and sat back with his cup, "He's head of my old team at the Ministry now, and has baby-zombie-itis on top of that. Last time we had a beer he fell asleep before the take-away showed up.

"Head of your old team?" Draco asked, "but surely that's just temporary." he said, wondering all of a sudden why he hadn't realised Potter disappearing from public life meant the Ministry was one super-Auror short.

Harry shook his head, "Nope. I quit. It's a bit hard to go unnoticed when you're me, and I wasn't keen on living under polyjuice for the rest of my career. And I was putting the others in danger, it's awfully hard to be taken seriously when the people you're trying to help are asking for autographs."

"Wait," Draco frowned, "so you have no job, and don't leave the house because of the press and your friends don't visit?" Now it made sense, no wonder Potter was so bloody happy to see him, if Delores Umbridge turned up he'd probably make her a cup of tea. Draco tried not to feel disappointed.

Harry shrugged again, "It's not as bad as it seems, I'm still sorting out the garden at the back, and now I've got homework to do for you."

"But what on earth did you do all day? Before we started this?"

"Like I said, gardening, reading, wanking, I dunno – normal stuff, I only really got bored a couple of weeks ago."

_Wanking?_ Good grief the man had definitely forgotten how to have a conversation, and now Draco was stuck with a not unappealing, but quite distracting mental image. "So, I'm the only person you've seen in how long?" He asked in an effort to control his wandering mind.

"I talked to Hermione when she looked at the contract for me –"

"Potter that was two weeks ago"

"Was it?" he looked confused, "No wonder I've been looking forward to this a ridiculous amount."

"Okay Potter," Draco said worriedly, "I suddenly feel like the deadline I've set for this book is nowhere near close enough. You need contact with more than one person. You'll go mental otherwise."

"Yeah I know," Harry nodded, and said almost to himself, "Eventually."

Draco had no idea what to say at the sudden maudlin change to the conversation. He picked up the copied folder that Granger had put together and flipped through it, the woman was thorough he had to admit. There was a list of addresses for contacts to verify the information. A fat packet of photographs at the back looked very promising, merlin, Granger had done half the work for him. They sat in silence for a long time it felt to Draco, long enough for Potter to go and make more tea.

"Can I ask you a question?" Harry's voice broke into Draco's line of thought.

Draco looked up to see him lying on one of the mismatched couches with his hands behind his head. "You can." Draco said not able to understand how the man could go from enthusiastic happiness to sudden random depression to pensive all within a few hours.

"Hypothetically … what would you do, if the one thing everyone thinks is right, the thing that makes everyone around you happy, was the one thing that made you unhappy?"

"Would you like an answer that is a vague as the question?" Draco asked thinking Potter really was odder than he'd ever known.

Harry turned his head on the couch to look at him sheepishly, "yes?"

Draco sighed and decided to humour him, "If it was _me_ it wouldn't matter if everyone else was happy. If I wasn't it would need to be changed." Harry frowned at him and Draco continued with an almost-laugh, "But it's_ you_ so I would say, based on the current evidence of self-sacrificing idiocy you have presented in your life so far, you will put up with whatever it is until someone steps in." then he added dramatically, "Or you die."

Harry flipped him two fingers, but sighed and said "You're probably right."

* * *

_**A/N:** Thanks for the encouragement on the first chapter. It really does inspire faster writing. _

_George x _


	3. Chapter 3

_Warning: **This chapter contains scenes of a non-graphic sexual nature**, (goodie!) _

_If this offends you I'm terribly sorry, (not really!) _

* * *

They were alone in the library in Grimmauld place, the room lit only by the desk lamp, and for some reason the floating bubble lights Draco had only ever seen at St Mungo's. The lights bobbed about the ceiling casting weird flickering shadows across the bookshelved walls. Harry moaned and Draco looked around to see him laid back on the couch next to him. His t-shirt was pushed up and his jeans undone, his hand moving suggestively in the confines of his boxers. Harry tuned his head and smiled lazily at Draco with glazed eyes, white teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He moaned again as Draco made eye contact and his hand moved faster, "Draco," he murmured, a sheen of sweat made him shine oddly in the strangely lit room. Draco reached a hand out to touch Harry as he sat there, panting and repeating Draco's name over and over as he stroked himself. But before Draco's finger-tips could make contact it suddenly went dark.

Draco woke slick with sweat, his own rock hard cock already in hand. It only took four pulls before his whole body jerked and he came, the spunk coating his hand as he shuddered in the wake of powerful release.

_Unprofessional_ was the first coherent thought that flitted across Draco's mind, _enjoyable,_ but unprofessional. "Idiot Potter," he mumbled as he reached for his wand to clean the mess.

It had been six days since Potter had blurted out that he spent his free time wanking. Since then Draco had been treated to three night-time imaginings of what that might look like. And, to be frank, he felt a little pervy about the whole thing, but that was only because he enjoyed them a little too much.

* * *

"Are you going out again this afternoon Draco?"

It was Marcus Belby, the financial reporter for The Prophet, and resident office flirt. Draco looked up from where he sat at his desk to see Marc flipping through Draco's schedule.

"Who's H?" he asked looking at the afternoons Draco had blocked out twice a week. "New _boyfriend?" _Marc batted his eyelashes and made smooching noises through his puckered up lips. "Brave of you to skip out on work for a shag, Betty would do her nut."

Draco rolled his eyes, he couldn't be further from the truth. This afternoon Draco was going to visit Weasley at the Auror offices, to talk about a _flying car_ of all ridiculous things. But for Marc everything had something to do with sex. He was indiscriminate in his choice of partner, and Draco was quite proud to have never fallen for the bright brown eyes and dimpled chin, not that Marc hadn't tried in the beginning. But after countless shunned advances – and a well-placed stinging hex – he had given up, and now they had a surprisingly strong friendship.

Draco snatched the schedule away from him. "Have a little class, Belby," he said, and then added loftily, "for all you know it stands for_ Hospital_, where I'm a saint, and read books to children."

"It doesn't though," Marc said with a snicker. "Come on, it's lunch, and your day to shout. I need some advice."

Dreading to think what sort of cock, or possibly clunge-related mishap he was going to have to advise his friend on, Draco got to his feet and followed him from the office.

Diagon Alley was busy with the odd mix of loitering teenagers and elderly shoppers that was found only on weekday lunchtimes in the Hogwarts holidays. A group of what Draco hoped very much were at least seventh year girls, sat outside Florean Fortescue's in bright summer singlet's and barely there shorts. They whispered behind their hands and shot flirtatious looks in Draco and Marc's direction as they passed. Draco gave them a look that hopefully said, _I'm a busy and important adult, don't waste your time, _while Belby – completely unsurprisingly – flashed a grin and winked, causing a marked upswing in giggle volume.

They finally reached the brick archway, un-accosted by teenage girls, and wove their way through the lunch rush in the Leaky Cauldron where they found a cramped corner table. Hannah Longbottom-nee-Abbot had been the cook for Tom since the previous summer and the quality of food had vastly improved. As had the standard of patron. Their orders were taken by a brightly smiling girl with spiky black hair and a mouthful of Droobles Best. She returned quickly enough with their meals that Draco could overlook the chewing for the sake of efficiency.

Draco had just taken a sip from his pint - it was _nearly_ Friday – when Marcus spoke, "I'm having an ethical dilemma." he said, looking at Draco with an expression that suggested he could smell something unpleasant. Draco thought it was most likely to be from having to admit to having ethics in the first place.

"You are?" Draco asked, trying to keep the irony out of his voice, and failing. He picked up his fork and started to eat, Hannah really did make a brilliant caesar salad.

"_Yes,_" Marc said emphatically, "it's about work, you knob."

"Oh right," said Draco, slightly mollified, "sorry. Did Betty ask you to bend over for one of her sources again?"

"No, tosser," Marc grumbled, "I know it was you that started that rumour."

"It's not a rumour if it actually happened Belby," Draco said haughtily, "then it's what we in the business call _a scandal_."

"Fuck off," Marcus laughed, "anyway, remember that story on redundancies in the Treasury Office?"

"Yes," Draco said, "you hit on Stebbins and he wouldn't stop complaining to me about it. I have to deal with that lot all the time remember, not just when you think there's gold missing."

Marcus flapped his hand and said, "Whatever, listen, I know there is something going on with the quarterly figures coming out of Treasury, but I can't get anyone to give me a straight answer. The Ministry is reporting a downturn now that the reparations from Death Eater estates are closed, but even taking that into account it doesn't balance."

"Really?" Draco asked, "so you think they're diverting galleons… or funding something they'd rather not advertise?"

"I'm just not sure, they're all so tight lipped." Marc sighed, "Betty says I should use Sententia on one of the lower downs and see if it gets me anything, but I've never had to do that, feels a bit like cheating." He chewed thoughtfully "But it probably would work, they're all so pissy with their bosses getting paid three times what they do."

"Hold on," said Draco, his fork stopping halfway to his mouth, "use _Sententia?_ What's that?"

Marc swallowed and said, "You know, the potion, the girls over in Lifestyle all use it to get the sources to give better interviews, makes them all chatty and stuff."

Draco's fork fell with a clatter of steal on china, little bits of anchovy covered crouton ricocheted all over Draco's tie, "They _what_?" He gasped.

Marc looked confused and drew his wand, he vanished the crumbs from Draco's tie and said, "Didn't you know? I thought you just didn't use it on principal, out of pride or whatever," Draco was still to horrified to speak as Marc continued, "Like I said, feels a bit lazy, but it's not like it makes them lie so it's all above board."

"Above …" Draco said weakly. He gathered his thoughts and asked, "Do the interviewees take it willingly?"

"Er, no," Marc grimaced, "the girls tend to put it in the table water, but I can't believe you don't know, Willis in sports swears by it."

"B-but," Draco stuttered, incensed, "but they're drugging them!"

"Yeah but it's not _dangerous_." Marc said looking bewildered at what he obviously thought was an overreaction on Draco's part.

"It's un-ethical," Draco said scathingly, anger bubbling to the surface frighteningly quickly, he folded his napkin viciously for something to focus on and spoke in an urgent whisper, "did you really think I wouldn't care about this? After all the shit I've put up with gain peoples trust. The celebwatch-whores are fucking drugging people? Merlin!" Draco threw down his napkin in punctuation and sculled the last of his pint. Then he pushed out his chair and said firmly, "Whatever you do, don't give it to anyone at the Ministry Marc, they'll put you in prison for espionage or something when they find out." And, enjoying the dramatics despite the seriousness of the situation, he turned and left a stunned looking Marc still sitting at the table with Draco's half-eaten lunch.

* * *

"Cuffe!" Draco barked as he stormed into his office, he slammed the door behind him as he entered and the little roll-down blind over the glass window bounced and rattled, "Do you know about this Sententia shit?" Cuff's uneasy look told Draco everything he needed to know. "You bastard." He snarled, "Marcus just asked me if he should be using it to get more information out of lackeys at the _Ministry,_ that is so unbelievablyillegal."

"You told him no I hope?" Cuffe asked calmly. He shuffled a stack of parchment on his desk and looked at Draco expectantly.

"Of course I told him no!" Draco said indignantly. "How long has this been going on?"

Cuffe sighed, "Not that long. Six months? It was Betty's idea." Draco drew a breath to say what he thought of Betty but Cuffe spoke first, still calm, still reasonable, still ridiculously infuriating, "Draco, you must think about this from a business perspective, we need more candid interviews, Sententia just makes people more opinionated, that's all."

Draco was at a loss, "This is insane." He muttered.

"The people already think the things they say," Cuffe continued placating, "it's not like we're telling lies about them."

"Yeah," Draco said his anger returning sharply, "but you do that too! How are readers supposed to know the difference between a regular interview, or one where the subject has been drugged _or_ one that is based on rumours?" he paused and then said in frustration, "Rumours that were probably started by this fucking potion!"

Cuff shrugged, "I've told Betty you'd react like this. She'll be angry with Belby for telling you."

"Yes, because that's the biggest problem," Draco said sarcastically, "_my _reaction. At least Marc thought about it, sweet Circe don't people deserve privacy in their own thoughts?"

"Draco, you don't care about these people, the ones who have been given Sententia are nobodies, sources on celebrity nonsense, I'd never condone the use of it in a serious interview."

"Well perhaps you should have a talk with Willis in sports," Draco said bluntly, "he's the one who suggested Marc drug a minor cabinet member of the bloody_ Wizengamot_. There will be law suits you realise."

Cuffe narrowed his eyes at Draco, "Really? How can you even prove it? One finance reporter's word?" His sneer was both threatening and at the same time, strangely disappointed, "I gave you this job because I knew your father and believed you would be good at it –"

"I am bloody good at it." Draco interrupted, "So good I don't need to lubricate my subjects with chatty-juice to get a half-decent conversation out of them."

"We'd get by without you." Cuff said petulantly.

"Yes, you probably would," Draco said, his heart began to pound, whatever he said he didn't want to lose his job over it. "A monopoly on the market does that for you. But if I quit, and I don't know, start my own paper, one that explains why The Prophet has such _candid_ interviews, what do you think will happen then?" His pulse thudded in his ears as the bluff left his mouth seemingly without his consent. _Fuck_

But Cuffe just glared, and Draco decided to push his advantage, "So tell Betty to stop using Sententia and go back to doing her job properly –"

"Good grief, Mr Malfoy," said a chillingly cloying female voice from behind him, "That's awfully quaint, telling your Editor In Chief how to run his staff."

Draco turned to see none other than Betty-bitchface-Braithwait standing in the doorway. Tall and slender with French-rolled cinnamon locks, and a string of pearls drawing the eye to the not-quite-proper cut of her blouse. It was easy to see why Cuffe did everything she asked – he was hoping to get his end away.

"Don't make threats you can't keep," she said, her heels click-clacking on the wooden floor as she moved briskly across the room, she stood behind Cuffe and put her peach-polished fingers gently on his shoulder, _maybe Cuffe was already getting his end away_ Draco thought as Betty's lip curled, "You have nowhere near enough capital to start a paper that could compete with us."

Draco knew she was right, war reparations had left enough gold in the Malfoy vault to see his widowed mother comfortably to the end of her days, but that was all. "Marc said it was safe," he said trying to move away from his rash talk of resignation. He needed his job.

"It is," Betty said snapping out of her defensive stance at once, it was actually a little disorientating to be glared at so venomously one minute and smiled at the next, "Side effects are minimal,"

"Minimal? Meaning there are some."

"Yes, of course," Betty said peevishly, "mood swings, the occasional headache, but it's only prolonged ingestion that does that. I had one girl," she said, her tone becoming gossipy, she snapped her fingers and looked at Cuffe, "You know, she was a source on that Magpies player who got caught cheating on his wife." She turned back to Draco, "That was when we first started using it, she was given it so much she stating blurting out things she didn't mean to say, but she's fine now."

"Well thank goodness for that." Draco said trying very hard not to sound sarcastic. "Aren't you concerned that the public will find out?" he asked, genuinely curious "The Prophet might survive but you two won't. The board will have you out on your arse if something like this is even hinted at by some independent."

Cuffe and Betty shared a quick glance, and Betty said, "You're right Draco. The only thing is we'd all be tarred then, who's to say that _you_ haven't used it? The public might trust you now… but if someone suggested you had obtained all your infamous facts less than honourably, and mentions of your Death Eater connections were made…."

Draco felt his stomach drop. She was right yet again, the public were so fickle, look at Potter, he literally saved the world and they had turned on him eventually. A few truth-telling interviews would buy Draco no faith at all in comparison. He was stuck, _for now_.

* * *

"Twenty three Harry," Ginny said quietly, her lips were right next to his ear, her warm breath tickled. "That's a proper grown up."

He gave a little laugh, "Because I wasn't yesterday?"

They were in the drawing room at Grimmauld place, Harry had been waiting for Ginny to arrive for the better part of an hour. When the fireplace had roared green and Ginny had tumbled out, Harry had found himself stumbling backward at her exuberant greeting and landed in an armchair with a heavy thump.

Ginny had climbed into his lap, her lips attacking his neck while her hand went directly for his crotch. It wasn't like Harry would complain, she had been gone for three months, it was a long time with only his right hand for company. Before he could really register how prepared for this she must have been, his jeans and boxes were around his knees and Ginny had flicked her skirt up and was straddling him again. He wondered if she had removed her underwear when he was distracted or if she'd come out of the fire knicker-less. Either way it didn't matter because his brain had shut down and everything was clutching wet heat and a flicking tongue at his throat.

That had been ten minutes ago. Now Ginny, still in his lap with her skirt bunched up around her hips and her blouse half undone smiled at him coyly. "Happy Birthday." she said.

The innocent look on her face irritated him. _Christ,_ the woman had just fucked him like she was being paid, it was so confusing. She did it often recently, the coquettish eyelash fluttering, timid little giggles when he paid her a complement – she had just commented on him being a proper grown up, why then would he want some bashful little girl?

The worst thing was that it had always been her most attractive quality, that she wasn't reserved or star-stuck by him, she was just her, Ginny. Quidditch and laughter and shagging, he had thought her perfect. Maybe it was the lack of male company, living with The Harpies, rather than six brothers that had her becoming more stereotypical female. Whatever it was, Harry wished he could fix it, he just had no idea how to bring it up.

"Shall we have a drink?" She suggested, climbing off him and blushing a little as she pulled her skirt down.

"Sure," he smiled, and then grunted at the effort of re-jeaning himself without getting up. "There's Firewhiskey in the cabinet."

"Alcohol?" she said, her mouth twisted tentatively, "You know I'm not supposed to drink during the season."

"It was your idea," Harry said amused.

"I didn't mean whiskey," she said, and Harry realised she never drank the stuff anyway, post-shag brain made him forgetful. "What about that Butterbeer?" she said, "Do you have any left?"

"Yes," he said, "only two bottles," he grinned at her, "thanks for them by the way, it was cool to get a surprise like that."

Ginny looked pleased, "Well I hadn't thought I'd be able to be here, but then Coach said I could have the night off since we won the last three games."

"Lucky for me you lot are so good then," he said.

Not wanting to spoil his orgasm induced bone-melt Harry raised his wand and summoned the drinks. Ginny left the room as he popped the cap on his bottle, "I'll just go and freshen up," she said. "You should think about what you want for dinner."

"Will do," Harry said, taking a sip and slumping back in the chair.

By the time Ginny returned Harry was valiantly trying to fight off post-coital lethargy, his half-drunk bottle tipping in his hand. She gave a soft little giggle and said with and affected pout, "Poor little Harry, did I wear you out?"

"God please don't use that voice in the context of sex," he snapped, surprising himself "it's all kinds of wrong."

"Sorry," she said but she didn't sound it. Harry looked at her to see her fiddling nervously with the cap of her still done up bottle, "Mum's getting ridiculous." she said.

Harry inwardly cringed. This conversation, _again._ "Really?" He asked in trepidation.

"Yeah," Ginny said and too her credit Harry thought she sounded apologetic for Molly's matrimonial fixation. "She sent me clippings from The Prophet, the Cotswolds is the place this season apparently."

"Really? I thought Molly would want us to get married at The Burrow, like Bill and Ron." He said.

"I think Mum accepts that it's not like Bill or Ron." Ginny said, "Bill was during the war and Ron and Hermione are quite well known but … well," she said ruefully, "they're not _us_."

It was true Harry thought, with Ginny's success in The Harpies she was rapidly becoming a celebrity in her own right, add to that the groom who lived twice… No, maybe The Burrow wouldn't cut it. "Christ," Harry said, "why can't it just be easy? Family only?"

Ginny grimaced, "I think Mum has her heart set on something a bit bigger," she pointed at herself, "only daughter and all."

"Your Mum does, or you do?" Harry asked shrewdly.

"Maybe both?" Ginny admitted.

Harry clenched he jaw to stop a sigh escaping and tried to sound unfazed, "Well we're not even engaged so…." He took another sip of his drink, dropped his head back and closed his eyes wishing that he wasn't spending his birthday talking about something he really didn't want.

It was silent for a few minutes, he could hear Ginny's fingernails tapping on her bottle, then very softly she said, "It's been years Harry, do you even want to marry me?"

_No_ he thought, "I don't much want to marry anyone." He said aloud, his eyes still shut.

"I'm not asking about anyone, I asking about me," she sounded regretful, and Harry opened his eyes to see her looking at him imploringly, "Harry, it's nearly seven years since we first started dating, and before that, I mean…." She huffed out a breath, and her voice wavered, "we're _meant_ to be together. All that time at the end of the war, I thought about you every day."

"I did too," he said, he didn't want to hurt her, sitting there, looking at him like he was everything, the way she'd always looked at him.

"Then why don't you want to move on to the next bit?"

He knew how hard it would be for her to ask so bluntly, they had been tip-toeing around the subject for the better part of two years. He really thought that they would continue to do so for some time, but apparently Molly had gotten to her daughter at last. Not that Harry didn't love molly like a mother, but the woman definitely needed a new hobby. Maybe he could convince Ron and Hermione to have another baby…

He steeled himself, he couldn't lie, "I think that is why," he said, "I look at you and remember sitting in that frigid tent feeling so hopeless, Ron had left and Hermione was so down, and I would just stare at the Marauders Map, looking at your little dot, thinking that one day it would be okay for you again." He was surprised that he was brave enough to finally say it, he never had before.

"But not for us?" her voice cracked.

"Not for_ me_." He emphasised, "I didn't know when I'd _eat_ next, let alone when I'd see you. I did know that I'd have to duel Riddle before I did though, and I wasn't all that sure I win that one."

"But you did."

"Ginny, I just –"

"Don't worry," she said abruptly, cutting him off in a falsely nonchalant voice. Her eyes looked very bright and she hid in her hair as she went to the drinks cabinet and took out a Three Broomsticks Butterbeer, "I like these better," she said her voice sounding a little wavery but her smile was firmly in place. "Let's not worry about it now, shouldn't have asked."

He grinned in relief, he knew it wouldn't be the last time, and he had said far more than he ever had before on the subject. Normally he pleaded work or bad press or her training schedule, it felt good to know he'd told her what he really thought, the only thing was it made him wonder how much longer she would put up with him. But for now she was smiling, so he would go with it.

She had pulled her hair up into a ponytail and sat on the floor in front of Harry's chair, her back resting against his shins. She said cheekily, "Since it's your birthday, you only have to rub my neck while we decide what we want for dinner."

"Fair enough," he said as she jigged her shoulders to scoot in between his knees. He was very pleased that his comments hadn't led to an argument.

He dug his thumbs in just below her hairline and began to rotate them, she made a little noise of pleasure and said, "Mum can go jump. As long as you promise to do this forever I'll be perfectly happy."

Harry was glad she couldn't see his face, it frightened him that even the idea of committing to neck-rubs was too much. He really was a coward. Fortunately he was saved from having to either lie or show his yellow belly when the floo roared green and Ron's head appeared, his hands firmly over his eyes.

"Harry mate? Is me, is it safe to look?"

Ron was permanently scarred from a floo experience last winter. He'd popped into the fire to see Harry and Ginny completely starkers on the rug in front of the hearth with Ginny riding herself to self-assisted orgasm while impaled on Harry's cock. Harry vowed never to repeat the clichéd muggle nonsense of shagging in front of the fireplace and Ron never appeared in Harry's fire with his eyes open if he knew Ginny was visiting.

"Yep," Harry said, feeling the tense atmosphere lift with Ron's arrival. "We're all shagged out."

Ron made a gagging noise and Ginny giggled, "Now I'm doubly annoyed at you." he said grouchily, although he was grinning.

"Why what else did I do?" Harry asked, his fingers now fiddling with the end of Ginny's long strait ponytail.

"You and your blasted book," he said in good-natured exasperation, "I get to the office after lunch to find that the meeting that was booked in was bloody Malfoy! And shit was he in a foul mood. Not that I was expecting to have a chat like old chums but _merlin_, I've never seen someone so close to exploding – that managed not to anyway."

"I didn't know he was meeting you today," Harry said, "What did he want to talk about?"

"The car mostly, and what I remembered about the philosophers stone obstacles, and er, the chamber stuff too." He glanced at Ginny apologetically.

"I knew you'd have to," she said, with a reassuring pat to Harry's ankle, the nearest bit of him she could reach, "I figure it must be a bit rotten for him, knowing that it was his dad's fault."

"Yeah," said Harry, he was so glad Ginny and Ron understood why he had to do this, and weren't being difficult about it. "I still haven't told him what the diary really was. Not really looking forward to that. Or even sure if I should, what if someone else tries to become immortal?"

"Mate," said Ron, "the whole point of this is to take away the speculation, if you leave bits out it would be a waste of time."

"Yeah you're right. I wonder why Malfoy was so shitty, was he nasty to you?"

"No," Ron said shaking his head and making the flames jump, "He was like, _super_ polite, but I swear I could hear him grinding his teeth, someone must have really pissed him off."

"Huh," said Harry, "I'll ask him next week, are you sure it wasn't just being around you that made him so mad?"

"Funny," said Ron, "maybe. Who knows? It's totally weird that you get along with him, I know he's all virtuous and shit but honestly, to hear him call you Harry is so wrong." Harry was surprised by this, Malfoy never called him by his first name in person, but Ron was still talking, so he didn't mention it, "Anyway, just wanted to say hi to_ you,_ sister," Ron said pointedly, "since shagging your boyfriend is a reason to come home for the night, but visiting your family isn't."

Ginny shrugged and said, "I hope when you complain to Mum you say 'Harry's birthday' is more important that visiting the family."

"Will do." said Ron, with a little nod, "Happy birthday mate," he said to Harry, "we've got a present to deliver on the weekend, if you'll be around?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, "Where else would I go?"

"Dunno," said Ron distractedly, looking over his shoulder into the flames, "Sorry Rosie's just started up, but yeah weekend, see ya then." and he vanished with a pop. The fire died away and Harry sat in silence for a moment, thinking about Ron and Hermione and their happy little family and how he still didn't see that in his future no matter how hard he tried.

"So … shall we go upstairs?" Ginny asked, interrupting his mind's slow downward spiral of unanswerable, and mostly depressing questions. Her playful fingers were creeping up the leg of his trousers. She had tuned and was facing him, thankfully the coyness had gone from her expression. She was looking at him steadily, a spark of promise in her eyes, it reminded him fleetingly of the time she had kissed him in her room on his seventeenth birthday. The day before Bill's wedding, the day before the real darkness started.

He shook his head as if to loosen the unhappy thoughts and forced a smile for Ginny, "Sure," he said and she pulled him to his feet.

Strangely, as Harry followed Ginny up to his room he found himself dwelling on the revelation that Malfoy apparently referred to him as Harry these days. It made him smile just a little bit, that was something that would_ never_ remind him of the horrors of war.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Goodness that's one angsty Harry, sorry about that. _

_Also, I'm a bit stunned that there are so many people following this story, it's very flattering. I hope it lives up to your collective expectations, (fingers crossed!)_

_Review?_

_George xx_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:** I have changed the tag on this story from Romance/Humour to Romance/Angst, only because there is no such genre as Humour/Angst (Hangst? Anmour?) and there is and awful lot of internal Hangsting going on. I would hate to be guilty of false advertising. xx _

* * *

Draco had spent a restless weekend trying very hard not to dwell on the shady goings on at The Prophet. The only problem was, outside his career he didn't really have much of a social life. He excused this by saying that when you had to talk to people all day you didn't want to do it in your spare time too. It was pretty feeble reasoning and he thought if he bothered to examine it he'd probably realise he had some kind of mad trust/people-phobia/Daddy-issue_ thing_ that he really didn't want to know about. He was quite happy being a gay man in his twenties with hardly any friends, commitments or romantic attachments. Perhaps he should get a cat.

With no human – or feline – distractions Draco ended up making an earnest start on Harry's book. It was so much more difficult than he expected to sit and read Harry scratchy handwriting. Not only because the writing itself was cramped and obviously scrawled out in a hurry, but the content was somewhat disturbing.

Draco had spent the better part of an hour looking up muggle euphemisms in his research texts because of the sentence _"I lived in the cupboard under the stairs until I was nearly eleven,"_ he was sure "_the cupboard under the stairs"_ must be some bizarre Surreyian slang for the smallest bedroom or perhaps a poetic reference to the boy's trapped feeling. But Draco was quite sure Potter didn't have a poetic bone in his body, and after countless books about the greater London area and its local dialects not even hinting at colloquialisms for little bedrooms, Draco had been forced to accept that the boy who lived, the little kid he had been so jealous of for being famous without even trying, had gone to bed every night in a closet.

Draco was struggling to understand how Harry had not turned on muggles the moment he had discovered the wizarding world. He actually had a very good reason to hate them, and yet still, he had fought for them. Draco was also suffering from nagging little stabs of guilt every time he came across and interaction between himself and Harry, even though he knew it was silly, what was done was done. But it was truly cringe-worthy to read about your eleven year old self.

The worst was something Draco barely remembered, a conversation with a little boy in Madam Malkin's shop. Draco remembered recognising Harry as the boy from the robe shop when they had met on the train. When Harry had turned down his offer of friendship in favour of Weasley. But Draco hadn't realised the full implications of that prior conversation. Hagrid, the first adult who had ever been kind to Harry, who brought him to Diagon Alley, and showed him an escape, Draco had called a drunken inept servant. Not only that, but he had preceded to imply that Harry and his dead mother, weren't proper magical people. No bloody wonder Harry had told him to sod off when Draco had offered to be his friend, directly after he … _oh yes,_ insulted the first person Harry's own age who had been nice to him. _Merlin_ Draco came across as a right little twat.

He wondered as he looked over the notes if Harry was doing it on purpose. The way he'd written their interactions did not hint at anger or old prejudice, it was just the facts as he remembered them. It made Draco understand Harry's side, even if he didn't always agree with it. It was something he hadn't expected from this process.

The thing that got to Draco the most was not the little hardships Harry mentioned as though they were nothing, or in the case of deciding to chase Voldemort to the philosophers stone his blatant (endearing) idiocy. But instead it was the odd parallels that could be drawn. Parallels that had pulled the two boys down on different sides of the war. Starting with almost blind admiration of their parents that led to their beliefs being parroted. Then their roles in the fight being decided for them, being little more than pawns in the end, and finally their drive to achieve a seemingly impossible task. Though Harry's was predictably honourable and brave, and in his own words saviour-y. While Draco's had been something he was still ashamed of to this day. Draco had still done it out of love, for the only thing he cared about by that point, his mother's safety.

Draco felt that it was conviction they had in common. Although, while his seemed to have been strengthened by his fight for a name of his own in journalism, during the same time Harry's had petered out. That much was obvious to Draco, even with just two conversations, Harry was drifting. Why else would he hide himself away? Put up with a girlfriend he never saw, quit his job because people wrote mean things about him? Merlin, that should be old hat to Potter. Draco frowned to himself, was it just the press? Harry had been working and still living a public life until the second of May, had something else happened to send him scurrying into his hidey-hole?

* * *

Draco had spent Sunday collecting statements from people who could verify the insanity that was Harry's life. It had not been as simple as he thought, he had been chased away from Shunpike's front step by an irate Stan, who Draco only convinced to talk to him by telling him he wanted to include 'The Great Rescue of Harry Potter' by the Knight Bus.

Then after meeting Professor McGonagall at the gates to Hogwarts he'd spent much longer than he would have liked in a sterile, hard backed chair having to coax several stories from Madam Pomfrey. She had continually glanced at the letter she had received from Harry, Weasley and Granger giving her permission to answer any of the questions Draco asked about their many hospital stays, and plainly didn't care much for the situation.

He had then traipsed across the grounds for a conversation with Hagrid, where he'd hurt the giant man's feelings by refusing his frighteningly hard biscuits and then had to ruin a perfectly good cup of tea softening one up to eat to appease Hagrid and get him talking properly. The groundskeeper's opinion of Draco seemed to have changed little since school.

After this Draco had returned to the castle for a meeting in the girls loo, and then he flooed directly home, exhausted, but thankfully distracted from his bosses and their lack of morals.

* * *

It was another scorching afternoon when Draco arrived at Grimmauld place following lunch with Marc at the Leaky. He was very relieved to find that Marc had heeded his advice and kept his investigating into the treasury by the book. As Draco had pointed out to his friend, the last thing he'd want would be to discover what's going on with the missing galleons, and then have the story drowned in a news cycle completely commandeered by Sententia and The Prophet's shadiness.

Kreacher opened the heavy door to Number Twelve and said, "Welcome Mr Malfoy," the elf looked healthier than the only other time Draco had seen him. Though with eyes that bloodshot and a complexion that grey it was difficult to tell if Kreacher was actually on the mend, or had just learned to live with having the flu.

But he had a revering smile for Draco so he nodded politely back, and Kreacher led him across the entryway and down the hall to the stairs that led to the basement kitchen. "Master Harry is out there," he said opening the door at the top of the stairs on the other side of the long room. The only access to the courtyard garden, "Master Harry is always out there," he mumbled as he wandered away.

Draco climbed the short staircase and had to shade his eyes against the bright sun as he exited the dim kitchen. Once his vision had adjusted and he was able to focus, the sight presented to him made his mouth go unprofessionally dry. With his back to him across the courtyard Harry was engaged in combat with what Draco recognised as a feisty Carallurma Lolligo – a large desert dwelling succulent cross-bred with Devil's Snare.

As though trying to give Draco's already inventive, and somewhat dirty mind fodder, Harry was clad only in a jeans and vest. A vest that had become ridiculously – and attractively – clingy due to the heat of the day and the foliage fight. His jeans were caked with dirt in places and they made Draco wonder absently when he started finding torn knees sexy.

Harry had obviously been at it for a while with the plant, if the damp curling black hair on his forehead and nape were any indication. Draco realised he had been standing there for much longer than was decent, admiring the shift of muscle under thin fabric and the glint of the sun off tanned shoulders. Potter's mental health might be suffering from is isolation but Draco could definitely see benefits to unemployment during the summer months.

One of the Carallumra's strong and flexible branches suddenly wrapped itself around Harry's left knee and tugged, sending the dark haired man hopping and stumbling uncontrollably to one side. Draco did the only thing he could think off, he drew his wand and sent a full-body-bind at the plant, it stopped it mad attack at once.

"What?" Harry said from the ground, looking dumbly at his suddenly still opponent, he rolled over and spotted Draco standing on the shady back step, "Oh, hi," he said, "you're early."

"I am on time," Draco corrected. "We agreed on two pm it is just after."

"Oh, right," Harry said flatly, looking back at the plant, "how did you do that?" he asked gesturing with his gloved thumb to the frozen Carallurma.

"How did I bind a plant?" Draco asked, wondering if Harry was having him on.

"_Petrificus Totalus_" Harry muttered to himself as he got to his feet.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Yes Potter, that would be the first year spell."

"Huh." Harry said, he looked perplexed, "I wonder why Neville didn't suggest that."

"What did he say to do?" Draco asked, mainly to give him something else to think about, other than Potter standing around in all his bronzed and toned summery-skin-glory.

"That if I couldn't pull it out, I should reducto it." Harry said, still seeming put out.

Draco sniggered, "I believe Longbottom is having a laugh at your expense, that's a Carallurma Lolligo."

"Yes I know," Harry said, balancing on one foot at the bottom of the steps as he toed off his wellingtons, revealing mismatched socks beneath the frayed cuffs of his jeans.

"They are filled with a substance similar to squid ink." Draco said, waiting for Harry to realise how close he came to having an unpleasant purple shower.

Harry looked up at him, surprised, "Really?"

"Did you not even check one book?" Draco said incredulously. This was the old Black house, a bit of ink was nothing compared to what could happen to you if you started reductoing things willy-nilly.

"No," Harry said, pulling off his protective gloves and wiping his sweaty face, "Better, I wrote to Neville and asked how to remove it, he knows everything about plants."

Draco laughed again, "I never knew Longbottom to be so entertaining." Harry didn't seem to find it very funny. _Odd,_ thought Draco, _weren't Gryffindors all up for buffoonery like long-distance practical jokes? _

Harry passed him long-faced into the kitchen and Draco followed. It wasn't that he was disappointed not to be given the same, _pleased-to-have-any-company-at-all_ treatment as last time, but for his host to go from annoyingly eager to sullen was rather disquieting. Harry definitely seemed bothered about something.

"It's not poisonous," Draco said, thinking that Harry didn't like being made a fool of by Longbottom, Draco could definitely understand that. "You can just wash it off."

"What?" Harry asked distractedly, as he searched in the pantry for something.

"The ink," Draco said floundering slightly, feeling more agitated with Harry by the second. They were here to work after all.

"Oh right," Harry said, he came out of the pantry with what looked to be a half empty bottle of his Swiss Butterbeer, and a flask of firewiskey. He threw himself into one of the kitchen table's chairs took a gulp of firewiskey and chased it down with the Butterbeer.

"Merlin Potter," Draco said, losing his temper, "what the hell is your problem? If you don't want to do this now you need only say, I have plenty of other shit-heads to deal with, and I'm working for you remember."

Harry huffed and turned apologetic eyes on Draco, "Sorry," he said, and he did sound it. He held the flask out in some sort of inappropriate peace offering – it was quarter past two on a Tuesday for Circe's sake.

But then Draco thought of Cuffe and Betty, and how he wished he'd made Potter agree to a higher fee. Then he could've just quit his stupid job before the sententia scandal came out, and work freelance until he found something better. He thought about how the thing he looked forward to most at the moment – for reasons he didn't want to admit to – was visiting his former rival, who was only paying him to be there and was completely straight.

Draco snatched the bottle and collapsed into the chair opposite Harry and said, "I bet whatever your problem is doesn't beat mine." He took a swig, it burned and he tried not to wince, but hell, it was only two fifteen.

"Really?" Harry asked, skeptically, taking the flask back.

"Yes, is your employer drugging people to get better information out if them?"

"What?" Said Harry, halting just before the whiskey reached his lips, "The Prophet you mean?"

"No_ you_, you imbecile," Draco snapped.

Harry looked surprised and the heavy set of his brow lifted slightly, "Shut up," he said, but he sounded a little less shitty, "really drugging them? Why?"

"Because, the public like nice juicy stories filled with lots of inflammatory comments," Draco said taking another turn with the bottle, "it sells papers, that's why."

"But that's so wrong," Harry said, incensed, "how are you going to stop them? They can't just give people a potion to get them to talk – might as well start giving them Veritaserum, and be done with it!"

Good grief, he should have known Harry would explode just like he had, "I know that," he said placatingly, "I already told my boss what I thought, but unfortunately I still need to get paid, and that means I need to keep my job, there's a pretty small market for journalists in the magical world."

Harry looked sympathetic, the fight going out of him, "That's rotten, Ron said you were mad about something, no wonder." he said "if there's anything I can do…"

Draco sighed, "Hero Potter, sorry not this time." Harry grimaced but didn't say anything so Draco asked "So? Bet yours doesn't top that."

"It certainly doesn't cross as many ethical boundaries," Harry agreed, "it's Ginny, well not really _Ginny_ but what she wants." Draco reigned in the disparaging comment he longed to utter, as if he wanted to listen to Harry whinge about his girlfriend. "She came to stay on my birthday, and it was fine but she wants to get married and I just don't. I really _really_ don't."

"So then break up with her," Draco said, bluntly, "Weasley, er, _Ron_, seems like an actual person these days, I doubt he'd bite your head off for dumping his little sister."

"I'm not sure about that," Harry said. "But it's not that I don't want to be with her, what we do now is fine, but marriage it's too much …"

_Oh the worries of the breeder_ Draco thought. "I thought she was away all the time now, what is it that you do?"

Harry swallowed the last of his Butterbeer and then blurted out, "Shag mostly."

Draco felt his eyes widen, who knew Potter was so shallow? "So you don't want to break up with her because the sex is convenient?"

"Not really, it's a total pain, one or two nights now and again." Harry said absently.

"Good grief Potter, you selfish prick." Draco snapped. "You can't keep a girl hanging on just because you like to shag her."

"That came out wrong," Harry said, looking confused, "I just meant that the relationship stage we're at now is fine, she comes to stay, we talk and play cards or chess or whatever, go out for dinner, and shag, it's nice, comfortable."

"Potter, don't be such a knob." Draco said completely forgetting that he was supposed to be professional, "If she's talking about marriage she obviously doesn't want a friend to shag anymore. If you don't want that then you really shouldn't be stringing her along."

"But she wants to marry the guy she fell in love with at school," Harry said sullenly, "I don't want to be him anymore. He's sad, and a bit weird." Draco just looked at him sternly, the idiot needed to stop feeling so sorry for himself and make a bloody change. As if he could read Draco's mind Harry asked suddenly "How did you change?"

"What do you mean?" Draco said carefully.

"You're different," Harry waved one of his hands in Draco's general direction, "not the same bitter tosser you used to be."

The implication that he had chosen to be bitter, and then not to be, irritated Draco and he said coldly, "I grew up Potter, maybe you should consider it. Now, can we please get started?"

"Sure," Harry muttered mutinously to the table top and Draco had to force himself not to apologise.

"Good. Now, in the new notes that you sent on Friday, the ones from August to December '93, my only big concern is this conversation with Fudge at the Leaky Cauldron, he has refused to comment. I just got his owl back today," Draco pulled the ex-Ministers missive from his satchel to show Harry, who to his credit, didn't seem to be angry at Draco for talking to him like a child. Harry took the scroll and skimmed it.

"Christ, he's still a pompous prat isn't he?" Harry said, "_I fear my recollections will not show the office of Minister in the best light, I will not authorise anything I have said as fact_. Twat," Harry said.

"Indeed," Draco nodded, "but not surprising since he flouted the Statute of Secrecy to keep you safe from someone his Ministry had wrongly imprisoned for a decade, and wasn't trying to hurt you anyway. Also, Stan Shunpike tried to stun me when I knocked on his front door on Sunday morning."

"Why?_"_ Harry looked confused.

Draco really didn't want to have to say it aloud, he tapped at his left wrist and Harry seemed to understand, "Is my riding the Knight Bus important do you think?" he continued as thought there'd been no interruption.

"I think so," Draco said, he consulted his timeline inclusions and rattled off, "it's appearance without your prior knowledge, and your use of a false name shows that you thought you were sure to be arrested." Harry nodded, and Draco said spitefully, "and since Fudge wants to be a prick and not cooperate, I would quite like to highlight his short comings - Namely ignoring out most important law."

For some reason Harry was smirking, "You're just gutted I didn't get chucked out of school," Harry said slyly.

"Yes," Draco deadpanned, "and then when Fudge tried to enforce the law two years later, I still didn't get my wish. Dastardly Potter, how you irked me."

"You're ridiculous," Harry said but he definitely sounded more relaxed. "Okay… Fudge after the Knight Bus … I definitely remember him telling me not to wander into muggle London. And he explained about Aunt Marge being punctured."

Draco snickered, "I do wish I could have seen that." he said, "can you just write down bits of that conversation as you remember them? I don't need to put it in now, and since I know the jist I can do my commentary in advance."

Harry nodded, "Sure, don't be too mean though."

"I won't be _mean_, I will be honest," Draco said dismissively, "it's not my fault the truth is nasty enough in this case."

He flipped his pages back to the start he'd made on Saturday morning, "I also wanted to ask how much you wanted from your first trip to Diagon Alley included, I thought that if your cousin ever reply's to me, we could include it in one section with Hogwarts desperate attempt to contact you, the run to the little island and then Hargrid's arrival, rather than give a moment-by-moment re-tell?"

"I guess the only important thing is my wand and Gringotts," Harry mused, then his eyes narrowed shrewdly, "Hang on … are you suggesting we gloss over it because of our conversation at the robe shop?"

"No," Draco said defensively, Harry gave him a skeptical look and he said, "_fine_, yes. But the conversation's really not relevant. What I'm really worried about is what if this shit about sententia gets out, and all Prophet reporters are blacklisted, and then I release a book that has me picking – unprovoked – on a half-blood _orphan_, telling him his mother wasn't a real witch? I mean honestly, I'll be chased out of town with pitchforks."

"Do the wizards of London carry pitchforks as a matter of course?" Harry asked cheekily, but then folded under what Draco hoped had been an extremely manly pleading look. "It's not relevant," Harry said, "You're right."

"Okay," Draco said with a minimal amount of smug. He skimmed through his notes, "So then, up to the end of '93 we're looking good." He tapped the page with his index finger, "The only problem is your cousin, I need him to confirm the things we put in here about your home life, do you think he will?"

Harry shrugged, "Maybe, I won't blame him if he doesn't though. It can't be something that he's proud off. "

Draco nodded. "So how much more have you written?" He asked.

Harry looked a little guilty, "I didn't really do anything this weekend."

Draco opened the folder Hermione had compiled, "'Ninety four," he murmured to himself, flipping the pages, "There is only what Granger refers to as '_The Shrieking Shack_ – _cannot include tt for legal reasons'_"

"Hmm," Harry said, "Yup, that's why I haven't gotten any further."

"Why?"

Suddenly Harry laughed, startling Draco, "Speaking of the shack, do you remember when you, Crabbe and Goyle were attacked by my floating head?"

Draco glared, "Yes, and you didn't even get in trouble. We _were_ going to beat up Weasley though, so it was probably –"

"We," Harry scoffed, interrupting, "you mean _Crabbe and Goyle_ were. You got your arse handed to you by Hermione that year though." Harry laughed harder.

"There was no arse handing Potter." Draco protested, hoping his cheeks only _felt_ warm, "It was one lucky shot. And what was I supposed to do, hit her back? Hardly."

Harry just continued to snigger to himself, then sobering he said thoughtfuly, "You know, I think that's when Ron fell in love with her, seeing her punch you in your pointy nose."

"Well then," Draco said dryly, "I'm glad my nostril's symmetry was not sacrificed in vain."

"Your nostril?" Harry asked.

"Yes, see, it's crooked." Draco tilted his head back to show Harry the place where his nostrils joined his maxilla on a funny angle.

Harry leaned closer to see the offending disfigurement and Draco found himself holding his breath, Harry said "Oh yeah, I'd never noticed before." He was close enough that Draco could see the slightly paler skin at the edge of his hairline, protected from the sun by the thick dark hair, Harry reached out a finger as if to touch his nose but Draco blinked and leaned back.

Harry looked confused at his own actions and said, "Sorry, I – never mind."

Draco looked back at his notes, and said in a determinedly casual voice, "Right, so, we already have a recorded second point of view for the beginning of your friendship with Weasley and Granger, train and troll respectively, the argument with me that got you the seeker position, _merlin that still hurts"_ Draco muttered, and he heard Harry let out a puff of soft laughter, "your conversation with the Centaur and his rescuing you, and then your idiotic chasing of Riddle and Quirrell to the stone. Then the car, the deathday party, and duelling club from second, I still think we should include the polyjuice potion," he said thoughtfully, "even if it does give yet another incidence of me being a bigoted imbecile."

"You're the pro," Harry said breezily and Draco looked to see the now familiar, nearly overwhelmed, but mostly just vacant expression Harry got when Draco was on an organising roll.

"Yes, I would have been more hesitant because it's unauthorised use is illegal, like the time turner, but Madam Pomfrey said she knew what Granger had done, and she didn't report it, so I'd say it's alright, and I have a witness to Granger pouring the unused portion down the loo while she waited for you to come back."

"Who?" Harry asked

"Myrtle," Draco said. He wondered if mentioning the ghost would remind Harry of another event she witnessed, an event Draco was both dreading but also morbidly curious to read from Potter's point of view.

A little line appeared between Harry's eyebrows, and he and Draco were obviously thinking along the same lines, "Did you ask her about … sixth year?"

"Yes. Did you want to read her account?" Draco asked striving to keep his tone light, "It's highly sensationalised, but she insisted I take it down word for word."

Harry shook his head, suddenly very interested in his fingernails, "When did you see her?"

"On Sunday afternoon. This whole business at work was hard to forget about, so I decided to do something productive."

"You went to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, sounding surprised.

Draco nodded, "I talked to Pomfrey and Hagrid too. Myrtle also told me about a lovely bath you two shared, I didn't know you were so kinky Potter."

"She was stalking me!" Harry burst out indignantly, half chuckling, "came out of the sodding tap for god's sake, I've never been so glad for bubbles in all my life."

Draco nodded, "yes, she did say you seemed rather uncomfortable."

"Moving on," Harry said, but his mood definitely seemed improved and Draco felt quite proud for bringing it about.

"Okay back to the Shrieking Shack, why is it you don't want to tell me what happened there?"

Harry shook his head, "No, it's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just shitty, what I did there is the reason Riddle was able to come back, god, of all the things that haunt me that one little act of mercy is the worst."

Draco winced, the flying cars and troll bogies couldn't last he told himself. He took a breath and said reluctantly, "Okay, just tell me, and then you won't have to go through the process of writing it down, was Weasley or Granger there? I can get the rest from them."

"Yeah they were both there," Harry started heavily, "It's about Wormtail, you remember him?"

"Yes." Draco said quietly, he had a brief flash of the dank cellar at The Manor, he remembered being out of breath with fear, he had been sent to see if any of the captives remained after Harry and his friends had escaped. All he found was the mottled face and bulging eyes of Wormtail, his silver hand still throttling its long dead owner.

"He was Ron's rat Scabbers." Harry said.

"I know," Draco said, "he used to brag to me about it, how he'd survived completely self-sufficiently, he seemed very proud of that."

"You never would have met him if it wasn't for me," Harry went on, "my dad and Sirius and Wormtail were all friends with Professor Lupin at school, they taught themselves how to –"

"I know about this Potter," Draco said, glad that Harry wouldn't have to talk about it for too long, "Wormtail liked to reminisce a lot, and I was the only one he had to talk to. They were Animagi so they could help Lupin, I never minded when he talked about that, a story of great friends, I couldn't imagine friends that would do something like that," Harry gave him an uncomfortable, almost pitying look, but Draco just laughed a little awkwardly and said, "but then I'd remind myself what he'd done to those friends after they left school, cowardly little wanker."

"Yeah, well I learnt all that stuff on one night in the Shrieking Shack," Harry said, drumming his fingers against the whiskey bottle. "Sirius and Lupin wanted to kill Peter but I stopped them, I said my Dad wouldn't have wanted them to be killers, now though," Harry shook his head regretfully, "I'm pretty sure my Dad wouldn't have given a shit if his mates were killers if it meant Riddle's soul had rotted away in dark, forgotten forest in the corner of Europe."

"And then Wormtail escaped?" Draco asked, trying to keep Harry on track.

"Yeah, so you see? If I'd let them kill him we never would've had a second war." He thumbed the cap from the flask and took another sip. Then held it out to Draco once more.

Draco hesitated for a moment but took it, he wasn't going back to the office this afternoon. "If you let them kill Wormtail I don't think you'd be Potter," Draco said thoughtfully, the warm little slip of whiskey urging him on to honesty, "and if you weren't Potter, then when Riddle did find a way to come back – and I lived in close proximity to the arsehole, I'm quite sure he would have figured something out – we all would have been screwed."

Harry gave him a funny look, "Do you know, that's pretty much what Dumbledore said to me?"

"Dumbledore called Riddle and arsehole?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry laughed shakily.

"So is that it?" Draco said, "You saved someone's life, _again_"

"Yes. If you ask Hermione she'll tell you the full story, I suppose that means I have to start on fourth year now," Harry grinned properly, suddenly cheerful, "God, just wait, there was this total git who went to the effort of making_ badges_ just to piss me off."

"Really? How original of him." Draco said sardonically, taken aback at Harry's constantly fluctuating mood.

"He got his though," Harry said, stifling a snigger to add, "I've never seen a prettier ferret."

"Prick," Draco muttered. It was strange to talk about their past like this, _fondly._ Like he hadn't gone to all the effort of badge making because he hated Potter so much he just wanted to be mean.

It was like talking of other people, like they had been bystanders in their own lives. Draco much preferred this. When he remembered his school days, pre sixth year was a string of unpleasant emotion. Irritation at Crabbe and Goyle for being idiots, and at himself for lacking the ability to make any real friends, of worry caused by pressure from his father to be perfect, of fear when he realised marrying and siring heirs was going to make him very unhappy, and most of all jealousy. Jealous of the man slumped in the kitchen chair opposite him, or of the boy he'd been, because Draco certainly wasn't jealous anymore.

He was a little disappointed that he'd finally allowed himself to admit that he admired Potter at the end of the war. That he was impressed by the way he handled the fame, just in time for Potter to give up and hide. But now wasn't the time to confront him. This strange and precarious facsimile of a friendship was beneficial to the book writing process, and besides, Harry was much nicer to look at when he was smiling.

Draco put his folders away, "I think that's everything I need from you until you get me your fourth year notes," He said as he got to his feet. He felt a little warm from the whiskey but other than that he thought that drinking in the middle of the day might have just been what he needed this week. Everything just seemed a little bit easier.

"Okay," Harry said, screwing the cap back on the flask and picking up his protective gloves, "I bet I'll be able to surprise you with some of the shit that went down that year."

"We'll see Harry," Draco said, it took him a moment to figure out why Harry was looking at him in some kind of smug surprise as he pulled on his gloves, and headed for the door to the garden again.

"See ya Draco," he said with a gloved salute, before he flung the door wide and headed back out onto the sunshine.

Draco stood there stunned for a minute, there was no way he could have seen what he thought he could in Harry's smiling eyes. Absolutely not. Draco should definitely get a cat, everyone knows they go hand in hand with madness.

* * *

As Harry hurried down the steps, after all but running from the kitchen he was filled with an uncomfortable pressing feeling. It was heavy, strong against his chest. There was a twitch of annoyance within him too. A tiny little rarely heard voice, one that had been around for as long as he could remember but was never acknowledged, spoke a bit louder for the first time, "_We'll see Harry,"_ it repeated.

This little voice was the real reason Ginny was mad at him, it held the strings that stopped Harry moving forward. It whispered in the corner softly, and it had been easy to ignore. But now, as it repeated Draco's parting words again, Harry thought it seemed to have found something to focus on, he worried that he might not be able to quash it as simply as before.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to everyone who faved, followed and/or reviewed. Top effort! xx_

* * *

The string of continent-quality summer days broke on the eleventh of August. Harry found it incredibly ironic that Ginny's birthday dawned dreary and depressing, the air was thick with the trapped heat from weeks of sun that was being held down by the heavy purple clouds.

Harry was impressed that the weather could be quite so clever at broadcasting his internal feelings though the medium of a muggy summer morning.

What had begun as his eccentric behaviour brought on by hermitry, and helped along by afternoon drinking, had progressed from the seemingly harmless conversations with shrubbery of the last fortnight. Ever since Monday's conversation with Draco, and with his undefined internal voice fanning the flames, Harry had spent much of the intervening days accidently falling into daydreams involving crooked nostrils and whiskey-laced breath. It made him wonder if it was possible to amble casually into madness instead of the more common direct descent, and if it was supposed to be so pleasant.

Harry felt very guilty for having what was possibly a teeny-tiny little crush, brought on purely by aesthetics and an endless amount of time to dwell on things that were best left alone. Harry blamed his situation on his lack of the usual route to sexual maturity – he had been in a serious relationship since he was sixteen, with only a brief break to hunt down and _murder_ someone – Harry didn't think it was all that surprising that he wasn't a hundred percent comfortable with himself just yet.

The reason he was a little worried, was that his uncertainty was no longer showing itself in the same way as it always had before – in the form of sporadic flashes in his mind's eye of the wrong gender when he was mid-wank, a time when no man on the planet could control what he thought about. No, now it seemed to have fixated, and much to Harry's disquiet Malfoy was the focus point.

Harry could quite happily admit that Draco was an attractive man, anyone could see that. His once pointy chin now just angular, his hair was still palest blonde, but it fell more naturally. He was tall and sharp edged, lean and always seemed to be perfectly dressed. But it matched him – straight, starched collars and precisely knotted ties sat well on his straight and precise frame. Harry didn't find it strange that he had noticed these things, he liked to think he was an observant bloke.

However, he knew he was in trouble when he found himself thinking that Draco had warm grey eyes – a reasonably ridiculous thing in itself, being that grey was, by definition, a cold shade. Alarmingly, this romanticised oxymoron was not the sappiest of the nonsense to run through Harry's mind. The worst was when he realised he knew, that since they had begun meeting, Draco had smiled at him a total of six times, and each one had been followed by a twitching frown that suggested Draco was annoyed at himself for letting them out. The idea that Draco was enjoying their conversations, whether he was trying to hide it or not made Harry much too happy. Malfoy was a happily married man for goodness sake.

Harry was quite glad that his sudden little crush would have to be left to peter out naturally. Daydreaming of stubbled jaws and angular bodies was one thing, but giving it a name was not something he was ready for. Let alone the life-altering idea of actually acting on it – which in Harry's case would be front page news. Not to mention Ginny would probably have a few pointed questions for him. He would have to brush up on bat-boggy hex deflection if that day ever came to pass.

* * *

"Will you kindly remove your posterior from my notes," Draco said, as Marc perched himself on Draco's desk, his admittedly rather admirable behind rumpling the pages Draco had put there only moments before.

Draco had just arrived back at the office after the most tedious interview he'd ever been involved in. Mrs Marion Dottage of – unbelievably – Carrion Cottage, a wind-beaten little place on the Isle of Arran had been victim to an error in banking. The goblins of Gringotts had, in a very rare mistake, credited her archive account with ten thousand galleons, rather than the one thousand she had requested be moved from her retirement vault. Because it was so unusual for the clerks at Gringotts to make any error at all, let alone one in a customer's favour, Draco had been sent north to speak with the ironically shrewd Mrs Dottage. She had lectured Draco on the importance of keeping one's own banking records. And how lucky the goblins were that she was honest, unlike, and he was quite tempted to find a way to fit the quote into his piece, the "wishy-washy, hand-out expecting, long-haired, gillyweed smoking lay-abouts" that populated the mainland.'

Draco had just landed heavily in his chair and dropped his satchel to the floor, when Marc had appeared. He groaned and closed his eyes as his head fell forward in defeat to land on his forearm.

"Oh poor Draco," Marc said, patting him on the head, "what's wrong? No afternoon shag today?"

"There's no afternoon shags any day." Draco said, his voice muffled by the crook of his elbow.

"Whatever, you were grinning like a loon when you came to pick up your stuff on Monday."

"That's because I was drunk," Draco said, _and imagining things_ he added mentally.

Marc made a noise of disbelief from above him and said, "So now you're telling me you spend your afternoons at the hospital reading books to children, while drinking?"

Draco's smile was hidden by his arm and he said sternly, "Don't be ridiculous Belby, I drink before I go."

"Are you really not going to tell me what you're up to?" Marc whined, taking it upon himself to begin stroking Draco's hair in a most inappropriate fashion. It caused little pleasurable shivers to jiggle down his spine and made Draco realise that it had obviously been far too long since the last time someone had touched him in a more than perfunctory way.

Draco twitched sharply out of Marc's reach, "Nope, not telling." He said, sitting upright once more, "Is it time for lunch?"

"Yes," Marc said, "that's why I'm here, I need cheering up. I've been stuck with goblins all morning, bloody lips are as tight as their arses."

"You'd know about that would you?" Draco said, feeling like crassness would make up for his sudden sexual frustration.

Marc looked surprised at the out of character slur, but seemed to appreciate it all the same, "Fuck off," he laughed, "Come on, I found out some more about this thing in the Treasury Office."

Marc and Draco trekked down stairs and crossed a little undercover alley in the humid midday air. They joined the back of the line at the counter of The Pointed Quill, the café adjacent to the Daily Prophet offices. It seemed to be frequented almost exclusively by Prophet staff and associated people. Draco didn't often choose to eat at Pointy's, because aside from being surrounded by colleagues – most of whom he had pissed off at some point – he disliked having to decide on, and order his lunch at the counter, rather than at the table like civilized people. But they made the only coffee in London that Draco found acceptable so he was prepared to deal with the disgruntled expressions and uncouth queue system.

"Now before you ask, _no_ I didn't use the potion," Marc said quietly once they had ordered. They had found a space to lean amongst the little islands supporting self-serve sugar shakers and cutlery while they waited for their order to be called out. _It was all so Iberian,_ Draco thought grumpily. It wouldn't be long before they would be expected to pay more if they wanted to sit and eat, rather than perch at the counter like a Spaniard. "I talked to Iris Irving in Vault Registry at Gringotts." Marc interrupted Draco's internal aspersions on the coffee houses of the Mediterranean.

"You poor thing," Draco said, and he meant it. He had many encounters with the fastidious Iris, she was a right pain in the neck. "I can't stand the little bint," he said, "do you know, last time I was there trying to get a statement, on those muggles who thought the goblins were ripping them off with the pound exchange, she had me filling in disclosure statements and all sorts of nonsense."

Marc laughed, "Yeah she really loves her forms, but she also hates her boss, reckons he's in on the misappropriations."

Draco frowned, "What do you mean _'in on it'_? How do you know there is anything to be in on?" as far as Draco knew, the budget the Ministry had released had less gold to spread around than Marc had projected. But it was hardy a conspiracy that the Ministry had less funds to play with now that the war reparations had come to term.

"I told you," Marc insisted, "remember at the Leaky when you stormed out on me like a right queen?"

"Yes, yes, I owe you for emotional damage," Draco said.

"Not really," Marc said, sounding suspiciously self-satisfied, "since it looked like my lunch date had drama'd off on me I got the lovely sympathetic attention of William Beaumont, you know, works at Flourish and Blotts? He was very keen to help me through my emotional upheaval."

"You give gay men a bad name." Draco muttered. Wondering how Marc managed to waltz his way into midday sex, with a very decent looking fellow, without even trying, it was mindboggling.

"Just because you have no social life, nothing like a lunch time pick up to start the weekend." he said briskly.

"Belby, Malfoy!" Called the counter girl, reading from the order dockets and pushing two trays, each containing a wonderfully large coffee and impressively stacked sandwich towards them.

They collected their lunch and found a table, Willis from sports was sitting a few tables away, looking at his watch, there was a jug of water on is table and Draco wondered if the sports writer was meeting someone for an interview, and if so, had he already dosed the water with sententia? Since he apparently '_swore by the stuff_'. Draco heaved an internal sigh and turned away, hoping the victim didn't say anything too embarrassing.

"So, this Treasury thing," Marc said stirring three sugars into his large mug, "Iris says that one of the vaults that was opened in '97, just after the goblins lost control of Gringotts is back in use."

"So? I thought they were all reassigned?" Draco said, confused at the significance. And far more interested in his foamy coffee.

"No, not all of them," Marc said, "one was kept for the reparations fund, and two were used as donations housing, the Ministry got so much aid from other administrations, they had to store it somewhere until it could be converted, but this vault was just a spare, Iris can't find any records of anything ever being deposited in it, until the middle of January this year."

Draco sighed heavily, "How on earth did you come to the conclusion that it's related to your light fingered Treasury?"

"A Ministry owned vault suddenly being used again?" Marc shrugged, "That seems dodgy to me."

"I guess," Draco said not convinced, "how did you get her to tell you this anyway? Surely that's client confidentiality broken."

"Yeah, I suppose," Marc's lip curled and Draco thought it was quite amazing that the man was able to look innocent and predatory at the same time, "how do you think I got it?" he asked.

"Oh dear merlin," Draco said, horrified, "_Iris?_ You are a plague."

"Hey, look who Willis is talking to," Marc said suddenly, distracting Draco from his recriminations on Marc and his cock's lack of scruples. "Isn't that Weasley? From the Harpies?"

Draco spun in his seat. Sat two tables behind them, in the corner with a modicum of privacy was indeed Ginny Weasley, wearing a smart collared dress with her hair pulled up into a simple ponytail that hung long and straight down her back. Draco thought she looked very well put together, her attire was where it ended however. She was in a fit of giggles, pink cheeked and hanging on to Willis's arm as though to keep her sanity. He was chuckling to, his notebook out on the table next to him.

Draco suddenly felt ill, but before he could voice his worries about Willis and his love of sententia, Marc said speculatively, "Do you reckon he's getting a bit of that?"

_That_ Draco thought distastefully, he might not appreciate women in the same way Marc did – thankfully, because venereal potions were expensive – but he didn't like to hear them spoken of as a commodity.

"Do you really think Willis would be brave enough to be sniffing around Potter's girl?" Draco said, trying to inject the old amount of scorn into his voice at the mention of anything Potter, but finding it sounded forced. He was sure it was true though, Willis had been two years above Draco in Slytherin, self-reliant to the core, and clever at finding ways to get what he wanted, but stealing someone's girlfriend, and someone famous at that? That didn't seem right for Willis because wouldn't be in his best interests at all.

"True," Marc said, "are they still together then? Potter and Weasley? And how do _you_ know?"

Draco blanched, "I … um, have you seen it all over the front page? I'm sure it would be there if there were even _rumours_ that they were on the rocks." He said, covering hastily, "and the Celeb-whores would be all over it." Draco had only just realised that Harry had told him, a journalist, that his relationship really was in a bit of trouble, merlin the man was a trusting idiot.

"Good point," Marc said, "and Willis wouldn't be foolish enough to bring her here if that was the case, the place is full of reporters."

"Mmm," Draco agreed, "I'm more worried about the fact that you told me Willis swears by sententia, and there he is, obviously interviewing someone who could not only share her own opinions, but her very famous boyfriend's."

"Willis wouldn't do that," said Marc, frowning over at the pair, "well maybe he would…"

Ginny was now laughing so hard she was leaning against Willis's shoulder, it seemed awfully cosy to Draco. Was there a possibility that she was not being completely professional? Willis was the sports writer, they probably had a lot in common and would see each other regularly, plenty of opportunity for private interviews. _Was this why she was pressuring Harry about marriage? To force herself to stop being unfaith–_ Draco cut his own thought off with a stern mental scolding, _Stop making up nonsense_. Just because comforting a heart broken Harry seemed like a good way to find out what his confusing behaviour had been about the other day, didn't mean Draco should wish it to happen.

"I'm just going to say hello," Draco said and he made to get up.

"Draco," warned Marc, "what's it to you if she's telling him stuff about Potter?"

Draco stilled, "Nothing, but don't you think he's had a bit of a rough time lately? Potter I mean."

"Lately?" Marc was giving him a strange look, "I haven't heard anything concrete about him since that drama at your in-laws, that's a point," Marc said, brightening suddenly, "she's been friends with Willis for a while, that's why she and Potter were there, I think Willis was in the Harpies press core, last season," Marc's eyes widened, "do you think they've been shagging since then or just more recently?"

"Argh, they aren't shagging you prick, they're friends," Draco said feeling relieved. He'd known that Potter had been at the same party as him because of his girlfriend, he'd just assumed it had been something to do with Astoria, not him. But the whole staff of the Prophet had been invited and allowed to bring guests so that made sense. At least this meant it was unlikely that Willis was drugging Ginny to get a better interview, she'd likely tell him everything he wanted to know anyway if they were old friends. It was at this point that Draco realised he had been staring at the pair of them, and not surprisingly, they had noticed.

Willis gave the customary head-flick-eyebrow-raise combination that meant any manner of things in male non-verbal communication. Draco took this one to mean, "Oh it's you two, from work, have a nice _date_."

Ginny was looking at Draco with an apprehensive expression, he supposed that wasn't too surprising, given their history. He forced a polite smile and nodded, hoping she wouldn't take offence to being stared at and run off and tell Harry that Draco was spying on her.

"If you say so," Marc said easily, "so about this vault thing, what do you reckon? Why would they suddenly start using it, if someone was stealing you'd think they'd put it somewhere other than a Ministry vault."

"Perhaps," Draco said, determinedly trying to focus on the boring vault instead of Harry's possibly slutty girlfriend, because that was just too mean. "Although, if you got caught with a private vault full of Ministry gold it would be quite obvious what you were up to then. Maybe this is so they can pretend it was all just a clerical error if someone clicks." He was thinking of Mrs Dottage and her extra nine thousand galleons.

Marc nodded, "That's a good point, it just so confusing, the budget is in deficit, which was expected this quarter, because the reparations finished at the end of May, but it's more than projected, I've been over and over the public release docs, and just I can't see where the extra money is being spent."

"Then why are you so sure it is?" Draco asked, he was losing interest in this conversation very quickly.

"I just am." Marc said stubbornly.

"That's really not a credible enough source for me." Draco said in his best Cuffe impersonation.

Marc looked annoyed, "I thought you'd be on my side, you've suffered from the greedy bastards and their reparations as much as anyone."

"Not really," Draco said, and it was true, he didn't really care that much that the Malfoy vault had been plundered by Ministry privateers. "Mother is comfortable and I opened an archive account when I was released from house arrest." It was about the only bloody fair thing about that reparations bill, Draco thought, that earnings in the form of wages were not taxable by the Ministry, though Draco would still not have risked putting his pay in the vault, the Ministry were not known to be all that scrupulous when it came to Death Eaters vaults.

"My father would be rolling in his grave if he knew I had an archive account, far to muggle," Draco said, feeling the strange mix of regret and relief he always did when thinking of his father, who, weakened by the final months of war had died in Azkaban before Draco's house arrest was complete. As much as Draco hated the things his father had done to their family he was still his Dad. He could hear his father's most superfluous voice in his head, _Draco, you mustn't trust the goblins to record your earnings on paper, what is to stop them altering the figures?_

Marc snickered, "Yes, the muggles have only used the same system for the last six hundred _years_, and they seem to find it perfectly suitable."

"Unfortunately to my father muggles and suitable never fit in the same sentence." Draco said, "And I am on your side, if you want to be so childish about it. But I don't really see a define link here, it could all just be a coincidence."

"Except you know Blishwick was always sympathetic."

"Belby, don't start that," Draco said carefully, it was true that Willard Blishwick, head of the Treasury Office had always been a friend of Draco's father, never quite a Death Eater, but Draco thought only in name. "You can't go blaming someone because of stuff that happened years ago – be thankful not everyone does that or we'd be working for bulldog-Betty. Cuffe was the biggest sycophant out, look at all the stuff he ran while Riddle was in charge. And he might be a tosser but hell, he's better than Braithwaite."

"I hate your ability to poke holes in everything." Marc said mutinously.

"Sorry." Draco said, "Why don't you see if _your_ special abilities will get you a bit more detail on the budget breakdown? It will be easier to find the money if you have an idea of what it's being used for."

"Special abilities?" Marc frowned.

Draco huffed out a breath and flicked a disdainful hand in Marc's direction, "Yes, those heart stoppers you call eyes, I believe Mr Blishwick has a new secretary, she won't be on to you yet."

Marc grinned, seeming satisfied with both a complement and a plan.

* * *

Thursday afternoon was when England suddenly remembered to be, well, _English_ about summer.

Perhaps it was not all of Great Brittan, Draco thought, just as there was a crack and a flash of light in the dark afternoon sky and the downpour started in earnest. Perhaps not even all of England, he reasoned, as he held his satchel over his head and tried to make himself as small as possible. But most certainly on the front path of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place the weather was decidedly English. Drops of London summer were running unpleasantly down his neck and under his collar.

When Draco looked down at himself he saw that what had been a very nice mint-green dress shirt, was now much closer to a pale cat-sick colour as the green mixed with his now visible skin underneath. It took Draco a moment to remember why he didn't just move to Marseilles, like his mother.

One very good reason to put up with sudden drenchings opened the door at that moment.

"You're all wet." Harry said when he saw Draco standing on the narrow stoop. His satchel acting as useless umbrella above his dripping hair and cat-sick shirt.

Harry wore a particularly vacuous expression, as though he could not fathom how Draco managed to get rained on, while standing out doors in the rain. Draco reached out and snapped his fingers in front of Harry's gormless face, Harry jerked and blinked and stuttered something about a towel, shuffling off in the direction of the first floor bathroom.

Deciding that this meant he was granted entry, Draco closed the front door behind him as he stepped into the foyer. He was just pulling his wand from the water stiffened pocket of his trousers when Harry returned, "Here, sorry." Harry said, as though the rain were his fault.

"Thanks," Draco said. He dried his hands and face and scrubbed the towel through his hair before he passed it back to Harry, and then cast a drying charm to sort out his shirt and trousers, "Better?" he asked.

Harry shook his head minutely, "Your hair's all…" his fingers danced erratically around his own shaggy mop, "Potterish," he said apologetically.

Draco hurriedly raked his fingers through what could surely not be that bad. He had very well-behaved hair as a rule, thunderstorms notwithstanding. Perhaps being around Potter's was leading it astray. "It wasn't raining when I apparated from the office," he said, peering out the window beside the door into the still torrential rain, "I didn't think to cast _impervious_."

"I've been waiting for it all morning," Harry said, "the sky looked like it was going to fall in, the clouds were so black."

"It's certainly been a claustrophobic kind of a day." Draco agreed. It was because of the stifling sticky heat that Draco had agreed to visit Mrs Dottage up north that morning, the sea breeze had been the trip's only redeeming feature.

"Library today," Harry said, seeming recovered from his bout of absentness, "Kreacher's bringing us tea up there." He slung the towel over his shoulder and led the way upstairs.

"Lovely," Draco said. They passed the still open door of the bathroom and Harry threw the towel in before continuing upwards. Draco followed Harry up the staircase, and try as he might to not let his mind wander off on unprofessionaly-pervy tangents, by the second set of stairs he was wondering if it was just climbing stairs all day that made Harry's jeans fit like that, or if he had some sort of muggle arse-ercising machine. Either way, the trip up through the house didn't seem to take anytime at all.

"You were right the other day," Draco said as they took seats in the library, either side of an end table carrying a silver tea service that looked very similar to one Draco remembered from the manor, next to it was a willow patterned plate stacked with crumpets. "You did manage to surprise me, I didn't know about Sirius Black living in Hogsmead."

"Was that the only thing?" Harry asked looking disappointed as he accepted his cup from Kreacher.

Draco shook his head, "I didn't know that Dobby had come to work at Hogwarts either, I only found that out when you had the little git following me around with, _you_," Draco said suddenly looking at Kreacher, having only just recognised the elf.

Draco's sixth year at Hogwarts was something he liked to pretend had happened to someone else, but now he found a backwards sort of comfort in the idea that Harry had been trying to catch him out, and an even more confusing spark of pride that he hadn't managed too, even though Draco obviously wished he had never been stupid enough to get in the situation in the first place.

"Kreacher was following orders Mr Malfoy." the elf said remorsefully.

"That's okay," Draco said, the elf's large watery eyes were tugging at something inside him and he felt bad for upsetting the creature. Good grief, his hair was not the only thing being adversely affected by continued contact with Potter.

Harry was looking at him in surprise but he didn't comment. "So you finally believe me that I didn't put my name in the goblet then?" He asked.

"I already knew, I told you on Monday, Wormtail liked to reminisce, and when he was feeling particularly loyal to the cause, he would tell me how he found Riddle, and brought him back to life,"

Draco could see the hunched little man sitting beside him at the manor, when he and Severus had returned after their escape from the astronomy tower. Wormtail's story about Potter's defying of Voldemort to his face, surrounded by Death Eaters, at only fourteen years old had been the first time Draco had admitted honestly to himself that he wished he had chosen the other side. That he had been able too.

Harry seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he said, "Do you know, I can still remember the sound of Wormtail cutting off his own hand? Of all the terrifying shit that happened that night," he swallowed and shuddered, "Ew, the thought of it still makes me gag."

"I have to say reading it was quite bad enough." Draco said, although it was not the mutilation of Wormtail's arm that had made Draco feel ill as he read the passage about Riddles re-birth. It had been his father's presence, reading the moment their lives were cemented into that world. It was horribly bleak.

Harry nodded, "Sometimes I'm glad I was so young, all that insane stuff, I don't think I could deal with it now. But when you're a kid… I don't know it's like I always thought the grown-ups would sort it out in the end." Harry grimaced, looking a little embarrassed "Sorry, I'm a bit weird today."

"You're a bit weird everyday Potter." Draco said, not unkindly as he opened his notebook, "We don't have a lot of options when it comes to verifying all of this, being that most are dead."

"I know," Harry said, seeming grateful for a change in topic, "McGonagall was there right after my name came out, and Hagrid helped me with the dragons. I sent a letter to Victor Krum, I figured he might help, he was there when Crouch showed up in the forest."

Draco smiled, he was very pleased to get to interview Krum, if he consented. Draco hoped he could talk him into a separate interview as well. He was retiring from international Quidditch at the end of this season, it would do wonderful things for Draco's career to publish his final interview as a player. "Excellent. You are a convenient man Potter." Draco said

Harry grinned, "Er … thanks?"

"I don't really have any other concerns," Draco said, running through his notes, "you told most of this story to Skeeter, so the readers already know it, and it's accepted fact, I just have to add a few details and I'll talk to Granger and Weasley again. But I think I'll save my next Hogwarts trip up until we've got fifth year done, it seems like a good breaking place, everything changed so much that summer."

"Sounds good." Harry said, helping himself to a crumpet.

Draco was glad they didn't need to go over their fourth year, just reading Harry's account had reminded him of his own personal struggles that year, coming to terms with his sexuality had not been an easy task in the confines of dorm life.

Draco hoped the fifth year notes would be just as simple, it was definitely easier now that they were cataloguing the part of Harry's life that was already well-known. Draco didn't find the need to ask as many questions because he remembered half of the important stuff himself. And so would the rest of the public. If not first hand, through the books and articles already published, and most of the information on those years was reasonably accurate.

Unfortunately this meant that he had little reason to sit and eat crumpets with Harry, other than because he wanted too, and that wasn't for any reason he could give if Harry asked why he was still there. But he needn't have worried. Once again it seemed Harry was in one of his bizarre introspective moods. He seemed quite happy just to sit, slumped in his chair and drink his tea while Draco pretended to go over his notes.

Until after more than half an hour of silence he asked a rather unexpected question, "Do you like being married?"

Draco looked at him, it was no secret amongst his circle of friends that he and Astoria were married just to keep their parents happy, he assumed Harry knew too. "It has its benefits," Draco said slowly.

"Like what?" Harry asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Draco frowned, he thought he understood the reason behind the questions. "If you want me to talk you into marrying your girlfriend I won't," He said bluntly, "I'm not married for love, although lucky for me Astoria is quite lovely and we get along well, but you cannot compare my circumstance to yours."

Harry scrunched up his nose and fell back into his slouch again, "But it will make her happy, and Molly, god Molly would be over the moon. Isn't that worth it?"

Draco made a frustrated little noise and snapped, "I don't know Potter, why must you insist on asking my opinion?"

"I don't know," Harry said, shrugging, "Hermione says follow your heart, which is a load of shit because my bloody heart doesn't know what it wants at the best of times, Ron says don't hurt Ginny but he gets that I have to be happy too, and you say dump her."

"I do not." Draco said, annoyed.

"Yes," Harry insisted, "last time."

"The fact that we've had this conversation more than once concerns me," Draco muttered, "And what I actually said was, don't string her along, commit or don't, it's up to you."

"It's not stringing her along though," Harry said uncertainly, "not really."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself." Draco replied, surprising himself by falling back into the old pattern of goading Harry.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked sharply.

"_Merlin_ Potter," Draco said in frustration, "I don't know alright? It just seems a bit much, poor Harry with his pretty girl and his independent wealth and his supportive friends, _good grief_ why don't you get some real problems."

"Right, sorry," Harry said, obviously offended. "Look I don't know either, ever since the anniversary party I've been feeling weird, Ginny just reminds me of all the bad shit that's happened, and I don't understand why it's just her. Ron and Hermione were there through much more of the worst than she was, god I spent more time with _you_ than her towards the end, why don't I feel so hopeless around them? Or you?"

"I'm not a mind healer," Draco said, steadfastly ignoring the tiny kick in his pulse at this new development, and wondering if the way Harry felt around Ginny was the same hopeless feeling he'd had as a teenager, every time his father had mentioned arranging a good marital match to insure the Malfoy line. "Did you ever go to one? After the war?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "Molly made me. But it was different then, that first year, Christ it was brilliant, I don't think I've ever been so happy in my whole life."

"That's really not a very high bar." Draco said, waving his notebook filled with Harry's messed up childhood.

Harry gave a twisted smile, "I know, but I didn't feel like I needed healing so there was nothing for them to do."

"I really don't think that's how it works." Draco said.

Harry shrugged, "Either way, now no matter what I do someone's going to be pissed off, I guess it's easier if it me."

"Sweet Circe, stop feeling sorry for yourself," Draco scolded, "I'm assuming you'll be seeing her today since she's in London, why don't you talk to _her_ about it?"

"Ginny's in London?" Harry asked, obviously surprised.

"Yes I saw her just before I came here, she was doing an interview I think," Draco felt like he was covering up for Ginny, and he didn't know why, things were evidently more sinister than they appeared if she hadn't even told Harry she was in the country.

"It's her birthday," Harry said. "I wonder why … an interview?" He asked suddenly.

"Yes," Draco nodded, "with the sports writer for the Prophet."

"Willis?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Draco said, "they're friends aren't they?"

"He'd like it to be more than that I think," Harry said. "Sometimes I think she would too." Draco didn't know how to reply to that, but Harry continued before he needed to, "she always goes on about how funny he is, something I'm definitely not."

"I don't know what to say Harry, sorry," Draco said, not willing to lie. Ginny had certainly looked like she was having fun with Willis, and if Harry suffered from mood-swings in her company too, Draco could understand why someone as bright and bubbly as she seemed to be might find that tiresome.

"'S'alright" Harry murmured, and then he made an odd choking sound and for one horrifying second Draco thought he was crying, but then he realised it was confused laugh, "Do you know what it totally mental? I think of Ginny leaving me for another bloke and the first thing that pops into my head is how the press will turn her into the evil villain, and how she'll hate it."

"I don't think that's mental," Draco said, "I think that's exactly what will happen, you're their hero only _they_ get to break your heart."

Harry shook his head, "No, I mean it's mental that I don't think the normal stuff, like how it will hurt me, or what I could do to stop it from happening." He paused, forehead crinkled as he stared blankly, "that's probably a bad sign right?"

Draco thought he had a point, but it was a bit disturbing to see him so openly befuddled by the situation, _bloody heart-on-sleeve-Gryffindors_ he thought. Draco was still coming to terms with the fact that Harry viewed him as a friend. To hear himself lumped in with Weasley and Granger as a valid opinion giver was very peculiar. The worst thing was he _did_ think Harry should break up with Ginny since he was so blatantly unhappy, but Draco didn't feel like he should say it because he worried that it was his niggly little fondness of the man skewing his motives.

There was a sudden loud _CRACK_ and Kreacher appeared next to the table, "Master Harry, Miss Ginny has just arrived, she's down in the kitchen, she didn't want to interrupt your meeting."

Despite the depressing mood, Harry's expression nearly made Draco laugh out loud, from shock at Kreachers sudden appearance, to inquiry as the message was delivered, followed by something Draco equated with swallowing a large mouthful of spouts, all quickly schooled into a small smile as he said, "Thanks Kreacher, tell her I'll be right down."

"Yes Master." said the elf, and he dipped his head in both of their directions before he vanished again.

"Cheer up Potter," Draco said, as Harry's little smile wavered uncertainly, "looks like she just wanted to surprise you, no affair after all."

Harry managed a more natural looking grin, "Yeah," he said, "sorry we have to cut this short,"

Draco looked at his watch, and blinked in surprise, "I've been here for two hours."

"Time flies," Harry said, with an oddly wistful look at the pile of notes.

Draco gathered his things and stood to leave, deliberating on saying what was on his mind, "Potter," he started before he lost his nerve, "don't do anything rash like break up with her, not on her birthday." _Chicken_ he chastised himself, he wondered if his nerve had ever even existed.

"I'm not that much of an idiot." Harry replied, "I'm sure Ginny and I will be fine." he smiled again and Draco thought he was far too practiced at hiding his apparent hopelessness. He also thought briefly that it was catching.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ 103 Followers, my goodness! I'd love some feedback … Good? Bad? The ramblings of an insane person? _

_Please take no offence from Draco's internal anti-Spanish sentiment, he just prefers sitting down to eat. _


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** Thanks for the comments, faves and follows - every one makes me smile just a bit more. xx _

_Caution, drama ahoy!_

* * *

Draco had arrived at the Daily Prophet offices feeling unduly chipper for a Tuesday morning. No one in their right mind feels chipper on a Tuesday morning, so he ought to have known something terrible was about to happen. If he had thought about it, he would have expected this terribleness to involve excruciating boredom by way of pointless incoming story sorting. Or, his most hated of housekeeping the tasks included in his job description – the dreaded intern interaction. He supposed it would be easier, and marginally less mind-numbing if he actually engaged with them. But, _honestly_, seventeen-year-olds really were some of the most tediously self-involved creatures on the planet.

It never crossed Draco's mind that his Tuesday-terribleness would come at eight forty-five, via minute owl on a Wizengamot letterhead, and written in a feminine yet no-nonsense hand that could only belong to Hermione Granger.

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_I am writing on behalf of Harry J. Potter to inform you that your services in regard to Mr Potter's auto-biography are no longer required. This is due to your suspected use of unauthorised methods to gain information about Mr Potter's life. _

_Mr Potter does not wish to pursue legal action at this stage, but your actions, if proven, would violate the terms of good faith included in the contract signed by both parties rending it void. I would advise caution in relation to all contact with Mr Potter as of today the 12th of August 2003. _

_You will be paid for your time thus far via written requested deposit into the account registered as D L Malfoy. _

_Sincerely_

_Hermione Granger-Weasley, _

_Associate Counsel Wizengamot _

"What the buggering _fuck_?" Draco said, dumfounded as he re-read the completely confusing letter. He must have misunderstood. _No longer required?_ An uncomfortable wave of cold washed over him. He willed his eyes to see something different on the page as he looked for a third time.

_THUD! _

Draco nearly fell out of his chair in shock when an open, canvas-bound ledger dropped onto his desk from the heavens, sending a musty breeze up into his face and obscuring the letter.

The ledger page was headed _Expenditure Tally, Treasury Office: First Quarter April – June 2003. _Then followed columns of figures and their allocations, all neatly slotted into a grid. Precise penmanship must have been high on the required skill set when working in the Treasury Office.

"Bad news?" Asked Marc's voice and Draco realised it wasn't some divine intervention but his governmental-financial-scam obsessed friend.

Draco blinked at the sudden intrusion into the reparative litany of Granger's letter in his head, "_Use of unauthorised methods"_ he muttered the most worrying sentence aloud, "what on earth?"

"Aren't you impressed?" Said Marc, not realising that Draco was otherwise occupied, "It only took me one afternoon, and I didn't even shag the receptionist."

_Legal action?_ Draco thought, paying no attention to his nattering colleague. But Draco hadn't done anything illegal, _was it a joke?_ Somewhere in his floundering brain it irked Draco that Harry had the bloody government's lawyers acting on his behalf, as if Draco had any hope of winning a legal battle against them.

"I did have to hide from Cuffe though," Marc went on, his voice now just a background drone to what was rapidly becoming an internal panic attack for Draco, "did you know he and Blishwick are cousins? Their mums are sisters. They were just leaving for lunch when I arrived."

_Advise caution?_ Said Draco's indignant mental voice. How insane, like he would hurt Potter, that would be career suicide.

"But he didn't see me so it's fine, and apparently Blishwick pinched the lovely Mavis's bum yesterday morning, so she was very willing to _accidently_ let me find the budget breakdown. She's a real sweetheart."

_Paid for his time?_ A tiny silver lining, Draco thought, but it would be nothing compared to the agreed fee. He winced at the thought of all the lost royalties.

"We're actually going out on Friday, imagine Draco, _me_ on a proper date." Marc paused, as if dwelling on the absurdity of such a statement. "Anyway though, what do you think? I went over the figures and all I can say is that I'm glad I don't pay the same fees on my bank accounts as the Ministry does," He chuckled to himself, "I can't believe _we_ complain about the goblins ripping us off." He reached over Draco's shoulder and tapped at the spreadsheet, "See?"

Draco focused on the figures in front of him, the minuscule script momentarily blurred. He didn't even know what he was supposed to be looking at so he asked, aiming for something possibly on topic, "Why do they only abbreviate _Account Maintenance_ half the time?" it was the first thing he'd noticed when he looked at the page, sometimes the full title and others it read _Accnt Maintenance. _Draco hated pointless abbreviations, and only doing sometimes seemed the pinnacle of pointlessness_._

"Does it matter?" asked Marc, incredulously "Merlin, our taxes are being sucked up in account fees and you notice a spelling mistake? We're looking for missing _gold_ not vowels."

"Sorry," Draco said, brusquely, "I have to go," he pushed out his chair, accidentally knocking Marc as he did so. "Sorry." he said again, but he didn't stop as he grabbed the letter and his satchel and marched through the cubicle maze toward the exit. He had to find out what was going on. He was not going to let Potter pull something like this.

* * *

Harry was drowning, or was he? He was awake, he was sure of it … almost. He tried to open his eyes but the effort involved seemed immense. He felt as though there was something large and extremely heavy sitting on his chest as he tried to take a breath. He thought that it was probably a good thing that his eyes wouldn't open, because even with no focus point his head was spinning violently. There was a voice talking nearby,

"Harry? I'm so sorry but I have to get back to Trento, we have practice this afternoon."

It was Ginny Harry registered dimly, but she sounded wrong, far away and fuzzy. He tried to open his eyes again, but his leaden lids only fluttered for the briefest moment, "Ginny?" He asked thickly.

"Yes," the bed dipped at his side and there was a cool hand on his brow, "I'm so sorry I have to go." she said softly, "but it's the semi-finals this Saturday, I can't miss it. Hermione will be here soon, she's going to look after you."

Look after him? He _did_ feel like a kneazle's arse. "Why am I sick?" He managed, he didn't remember getting sick, he'd been in the library with Draco, hadn't he? "I don't remember – Draco was here, wasn't he?"

"Yes" Ginny said, "he left just after I arrived,"

Harry was struggling to comprehend what was going on. Now that Ginny said it, he did remember her arrival, he had been worried about their relationship. Worried that he wasn't worried enough, something even he thought was crazy. He had been disappointed that Draco was leaving, and confused that Ginny was there when she was supposed to be in Italy.

Rapping on the door suddenly rattled through mess that was Harry's head, it was accompanied by Hermione's voice "Ginny? Harry?"

"Come in," Ginny said.

Harry heard the quick slapping of flip-flop footsteps crossing the room's wooden floor and then Hermione said, "Oh Harry," there was a new hand on his forehead – maybe that was where he had been injured? His head _was_ still spinning rapidly. But then Hermione's hand was gone and soft lips repaced it, he hoped that was Ginny, he would have to be dying for Hermione to be kissing him.

"I'll floo tonight," he heard Ginny say, _not dying then_ Harry thought, Ginny would surely stay by his side if his life was in danger. In fact, that was the only reason her coach accepted for being absent from practice.

"Sure," Hermione said, "I've taken the day off, and the Healer said Harry should be better within twenty four hours. It's already been fourteen."

_Fourteen hours_ Harry thought, so what time was it? The middle of the night? Draco had arrived at two, and he could vaguely remember seeing Ginny, she'd been a bit dressed up and had brought wine.

"Harry are you awake?" It was Hermione again. He managed to open his eyes enough to see her sitting next to him on his bed. She could obviously tell that he was trying to look at her, because she handed him his glasses. Then, when he fumbled to get his hand out from under the blankets, she sat them on his nose and tucked the arms over his ears for him.

"Thanks." he said, as she came into focus. It must have been early in the morning, Hermione was dressed in what had to be one of Ron's t-shirts and the sort of linen-y pyjamas that you couldn't tell were pyjamas unless you really looked, and he guessed, flip-flops, though he couldn't see her feet. She had not even tried to tame her hair, it was up in scrunched knot on top of her head. She smiled at him and Harry said, "God your hair is mental."

Hermione patted it self-consciously and said, "Well that wasn't too bad."

"Shit I'm sorry," Harry said, horrified at his rudeness, "I didn't mean that, it's just these days you normally make an effort, I haven't seen it looking –"

"Harry stop talking," Hermione said, surprisingly kindly considering his lack of tact. "I think it would be best if you just try not to say anything until it wears off. Healer Mallog said that should be by about seven this evening." She checked her watch and frowned as though she'd hoped it would miraculously be seven in the evening already.

"Until _what_ wears off?" Harry asked, a little panicked, "Why I am not supposed to talk? And you really shouldn't frown like that, it makes you look old."

Hermione's frown deepened, "Zip it," she said, "I still want to be your friend by the end of the day," she smiled ruefully, "but a girl can only take so much honesty. Now I'm guessing Ginny didn't tell you what happened?"

Harry shook his head, it seemed to rattle a bit, like all the important bits inside were loose. _That couldn't be good._ He desisted. "No, nothing," he said, "I only just woke up."

"Right," Hermione said, just as there was a sudden cooing gurgle from near Harry's feet. It took his slow brain a moment to realise it was just a previously quiet baby Rosie, and not some weird gurgling-toe symptom of his mysterious illness.

"Good morning Rose," Hermione said, walking her fingers up her daughter's chest and bopping her lightly on the nose with her index finger, earning a fractious little giggle in response. Hermione pulled a brightly coloured, bangle-sized plastic ring from her pocket and handed it to Rose, who immediately thrust it into her mouth and began gumming away happily. "Teething," Hermione said, "and Granny Granger will not allow magic near her only grandchild's teeth. All well and good for _her_, she's not dealing with the grumpy little drooler all day and night."

"Oh," said Harry, being careful not to say more.

"Right," Hermione said again, turning her attention back to him now that Rose was placated. She kept one hand on her daughter's tummy as she spoke, Rose did like to roll around a lot. "Ginny said that at about six last night, you er, fell asleep, and that it took her a while to realise that it wasn't normal sleep, but that you were having trouble breathing."

Harry was confused, "I fell asleep at six in the evening and Ginny didn't think that was weird?" Harry asked, "Christ, she gets normally gets grumpy at me if I even doze off on the couch when she's visiting."

"Well," Hermione said, not quite meeting his eye, "you'd just, er, _privately_ celebrated her birthday," Hermione was obviously striving to appear unruffled, but Harry could tell it wasn't something she particularly wanted to talk about.

Harry didn't much want to either. The night was coming back to him very quickly at the mention of private celebrations – Ginny in her nice dress, smiling at him. Drinking her birthday wine while she told him about the latest dramas at Harpies camp, and the word on the likely line-up for the Bolzano Orsi - Harry's favourite non-British team. Then he remembered thinking, as she had got down on her knees in front of his chair and unzipped his fly, that considering it was her birthday he seemed to be doing very well out of it.

Then something else, light headedness from the wine hitting him without warning, and finding that every time he closed his eyes to enjoy Ginny's ministrations it was no longer his girlfriend's auburn head bobbing up and down in his lap but a blonde one, the light hair messed up and half-wet as Draco's had been after he'd come in from the rain.

Harry remembered quite clearly having to force his eyes open to stay present, to not get lost in a wine induced fantasy, as well as clamp his mouth shut as a precaution against verbalising the consuming illusion. He couldn't remember anything after the rush of climax. It was blank, nothing at all, until Ginny talking to him just a few minutes ago.

"Ginny said you usually –," Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste and then muttered, _"for goodness sake, we're grown-ups."_ Harry understood, he didn't really talk about his sexual habits with anyone, seeing that his best friend was completely horrified given his sisters involvement and Hermione just wasn't a 'sex talk' kind of friend. But she gave a slightly manic smile and powered on as only Hermione could, "According to Ginny you are prone to falling asleep after sex, something that is very common, so I don't blame her for not realising something was wrong right away."

"What was wrong?" Harry asked forgetting to be embarrassed, and just hoping the problem wasn't him moaning Draco's name in his sleep. Although he didn't think either Hermione or Ginny would view possible bisexuality as a disease that required a healer, or something that could be cured in twenty-four hours. Ginny probably wouldn't have been too pleased with him this morning either, and she hadn't seemed pissed off.

"You were in some sort of overdose-induced coma," Hermione said, by the time Ginny realised that you were sick you were barely breathing, that's why you feel so rotten, oxygen deprivation. The Spikerush grass in the potion has built up in your system for the last three and a half months, Healer Mallog says it's surprising you didn't notice something was wrong with you sooner."

"_What_!?" Harry exclaimed, earning a startled jump from Hermione and a squelchy sounding shriek from Rose at his feet. "Hermione, are you telling me I've been poisoned? For the last _three months_?"

She nodded, "Not poisoned exactly, but there's a potion The Prophet reporters have been using, Ginny just told me about it, she is friends with Nathan Willis who works there, he told her they all use it all the time –"

"Draco told me," Harry said, "Sentia or something,"

"He _told_ you about it? Did you take it willingly?" She asked sharply, Harry shook his head and Hermione continued, Harry could tell she was winding up in to full Hermione-auto-rant, "God he has a nerve, I think it's absolutely abhorrent. To think Malfoy has built a career on apparent honesty and really it's this sneakiness behind it. I really thought he had talent you know. I _never_ would have suggested this if I'd thought he worked in any other way than what he presented to the public."

"Hermione," Harry said, realising what she was implying, "just hang on – you think Malfoy has been giving it to me? He doesn't _use_ it, he told me he only just found out about it, can't have been more than two weeks ago. He was so mad, remember the day he talked to Ron? That's what he was angry about."

"Really?" she said sceptically, "Well, Healer Mallog says the build-up is at least three months old, that's the beginning of May – the party was at his in-laws Harry, he could have slipped it in your drink at any point during the evening. I'm sorry I didn't believe you when you said you'd been drugged at the party. I should have known no matter how drunk you might have been, you wouldn't go shouting at people."

That made sense at least, Harry thought. He'd been drinking whiskey that night, it had never before made him loose his temper like that. But everyone just rolled their eyes when he said something else had happened. "Hold on Hermione," Harry said, his head was still foggy, it was difficult to understand all the implications. But, as he thought about his time with Draco his innards seemed to evaporate in horrible realisation. Was _this_ why he kept telling him things he didn't really need to? Why he felt so belligerent most of the time? Did sententia make you crazy? "What else did the healer say?" he asked urgently.

Hermione took a piece of parchment from his bedside table and handed it to him. It was topped with a crossed bone and wand emblem, below which were several paragraphs of swirly handwriting.

_11 Aug 19.00 Initial assessment reveals patient has suffered ongoing exposure to spikerush and wyvern scale causing an episode of severe respiratory distress. Both spikerush and wyvern scale are active ingredients in_ _manaire draft, pensarie, sententia, skrikig solution, and veritaserum. The only potion that matches all foreign additives found in patients system is sententia. This potion is rarely used in modern times in a medicinal capacity – up until mid-1950's diluted sententia was recommended as a treatment for introverted children by mind healers. _

_Sententia has been ingested on a regular basis for at least the last three weeks and older traces of the easily dateable spikerush suggest initial exposure no more than three months ago. _

_Spouse confirms patient has suffered mood swings and memory loss, will confirm with patent if he has any other symptoms at next assessment – 10.00, temporary coma should have lifted by this time. Patient will likely exhibit a lack of ability to sensor his speech until the antidote is effective, at approximately 19.00. _

_Dennis Mallog, Healer - St Mungo's out-patient department._

Harry looked up at Hermione, "I thought I was going mad," he said, somewhat relieved, and also with a creeping disappointment in Draco. He was certainly a good actor. Harry had believed Draco's outrage at his colleague's use of the potion in a heartbeat. "Why would he lie to me?" Harry asked, "We were getting on so well."

Hermione looked surprised, "That's what you're worried about? That he _lied_ to you? The fact that you could have died from this doesn't concern you?"

"That's true," Harry said, clutching on to what seemed like a plausible hope, "Draco's clever, and he was pretty good at potions, don't you think he'd know better than to give me an overdose?"

"Harry," Hermione said slowly, her eyes narrowing in a way that made Harry cringe, she knew something was not quite right, "I know you like to look for the best in people, and that he's changed on the surface. I mean, I thought him reformed too, but this is a big deal," she patted his knee through the bedspread and said, as though he was very dim and didn't really get it, "he could have _killed_ you, whether he meant to or not."

Before Harry could reply – luckily, because he was probably going to say something stupid like,_ 'I don't think he did it,' _or_ 'you're jumping to conclusions'_ something he knew Hermione wouldn't do, and the evidence all pointed in Draco's direction – there was a thunderous banging on the front door down stairs and then a voice Harry had no trouble recognising bellowed, "Potter, you contract-welshing prat! Out here at once!"

* * *

Draco couldn't stop his foot from tapping impatiently as he waited for the door at Grimmauld place to be opened for him. He was thoroughly regretting his hasty hammering on Potter's front door, which he had foolishly followed by shouting up at the terraced facade. He regretted the shouting because he liked to appear in control of his temper, which yelling at the top of his lungs certainly was not. The door hammering he wished he had thought through because now he wasn't just terribly angry, insulted, and fearful that he had lost a very large sum of money (and Harry's previous approval) but his hand hurt like a bitch.

It was not Kreacher or Harry that bravely opened the door to face the onslaught of Draco's indignation, but Hermione Granger-Weasley. Her eye-brows were set in a McGonagall-worthy straight line of disapproval and there was a red-headed child blowing spitty bubbles balanced on her hip. This small … _girl_? – Draco really wished that people could be more gender-specific with their baby ensembles- a yellow stretch 'n' grow really gave him no idea either way, except that ginger people should never wear yellow, if even the cuteness of a baby couldn't make it look acceptable. The small _child_, poor fashion choices aside, explained Hermione's mother-with-no-time appearance, loose trousers and an even looser t-shirt, with the maddest hair Draco had ever seen in real life.

"Malfoy," she said, coolly, "I didn't expect such reckless behaviour from you," she adjusted the baby and continued in her best _Assistant Counsel_ voice, "I advised you to be cautious in approaching Harry, if you wish to pursue this I will happily confer with Higgs. But after what has happened I cannot allow you to speak with Harry."

"After _what_ has happened?" Draco said impatiently, "Granger, I received your letter firing me half an hour ago for something I haven't done. You'll be hearing from my solicitor, so you best have all your accusatory ducks in a row, because I'll not have my reputation at risk." She was giving him a calculating look and Draco thought he might have softened her just slightly, "Could we please speak about this inside?" he tried politely, even attempting a smile, he didn't think it worked though, his cheeks felt too stiff.

"Draco," Hermione said still baring the door way, but seeming more reasonable. She looked over her shoulder up the staircase, "This is serious, I don't know why you would bother when he was willing to tell you everything anyway but he tested positive for Sententia –"

"What?" Draco interrupted, "But he hasn't been near anyone from The Prophet except–" a heavy weight dropped into Draco's stomach as he realised what she thought he had done, "except me." he finished. _Fuck_.

Hermione was watching him intently but she didn't speak, or move to close the door. "I didn't–" Draco stuttered automatically, reaching out a hand to keep the door open in case she decided to shut him out, "Granger really, _I didn't_, we're friends … sort of, like you said he was telling me everything."

He really needed to talk to Harry about this, he would know Draco didn't do it. It must just be Granger drawing the most obvious conclusion. He took a deep breath, "Please Granger," he said calmly, "can we just sit down and talk about it?"

She was looking at him strangely, "Fine," and she finally stepped aside.

"In the drawing room?" he asked, his plan already formed as he started up the staircase.

"Sure," she said following him. Draco slowed his pace so she would draw level with him on the stairs and surreptitiously withdrew his wand, hiding it up his right sleeve.

When they reached the door to the drawing room he gestured with his left hand, "Ladies first," he said, his smile came easier this time, _needs must_ he thought.

Hermione and the now gurgling yellow-clad child passed him into the room, and just as she bent to sit on the sofa, Draco, still in the doorway said, "_Accio Granger's wand_." The thin strip of wood wiggled free from her trouser pocket and Hermione, her hands full of baby tried to snatch it but missed. It soared through the air and Draco caught it in his left hand, then he took a step back out of the room. He slammed the door shut and jabbed his own wand at it, saying "_Colloportus"_ as he did so.

Draco looked down at the other wand clutched in his fist, his heart was beating rapidly, he hadn't broken the law by disarming outside a duel, but it was awfully close. He was sure Granger and her team of legal brains could send him down for this.

"Sorry Granger," he said loudly through the door and meaning it, "Really I am. Just give me ten minutes." and he took off up the stairs, Hermione's muffled angry voice from the locked room followed him.

Draco passed the open library door and several empty guest bedrooms, he paused at each one to peer inside, but everything was still, only the continued raised voice of Hermione on the floor below disturbed the peace in the old house. Draco supposed Harry was up here _somewhere_, Hermione had been looking in this direction when she was trying to keep him outside.

Then as he rounded the final banister he heard a familiar voice say, "Fucking brilliant. As if I want to talk to you like this." Harry was standing at the door to one of only two rooms that opened off the tiny last landing. He was very pale, his hair even more insane than usual.

Draco pulled up short, the man looked quite sick. Draco wanted to tell him to go back to bed. Then he remembered why he had just locked a mother and baby in a room and run up more stairs than was wise for a reasonably inactive man. "Granger just told me that you have been given sententia." He said, surprised that he didn't sound as pleading as he felt, "You know I didn't do it?"

Harry seemed to brace himself on the doorframe, like he was struggling with the effort of standing but he said quite forcefully, "I don't know anything," he glowered at Draco, "Healer Mallog says the first dose was at the beginning of May – I was at your in-laws house for that stupid party then, and what did I do there? Something that has turned out rather well for you." He wobbled slightly and Draco nearly reached out a hand to help him, but Harry righted himself and said pointedly, "It does seem rather convenient."

Draco couldn't believe that this is what a sententia overdose looked like, he should have known Betty would down play the side effects to ease his temper. But it still rankled that Harry was accusing him, he narrowed his eyes and said contemptuously, "Potter, how could I _possibly _have thought that you having a go at my boss would lead us here? Don't be ridiculous. I didn't know the stuff existed until a fortnight ago!"

"So you say," Harry said nastily, "I thought we'd moved on from all this shit."

"Potter, I spoke to you once that whole evening, at the coat check when you arrived and you didn't even have a drink yet, so I _couldn't_ have given you any potion. There were at least ten other reporters there, any of them could have spiked your drink."

"But none of them have been around me since." Harry said doggedly.

"When could I have given it to you?" Draco just stopped himself from throwing his arms in the air in exasperation, "You or your house-elf made all the drinks you've consumed in my presence, think it through for merlin's sake."

"I don't know!" Harry said sounding quite as frustrated as Draco felt, "You were always sneaking, up to something, I don't know why I thought you'd changed, you're _Malfoy_ for goodness sake."

Draco very nearly winced, to hear his name sneered like that, Harry's facial expression wasn't as cruel as it would have been ten years ago, but it stung a bit to know Harry still had reservations about his character. "Nice to know what you really think Potter." Draco ground out, "You just said you thought we'd moved past this."

"What _I_ really think? Isn't that was this is all about?" Harry's colour was returning as his voice rose with anger, "Did you really think I was hiding something? I asked to you write this book, why would I keep anything from you?"

"You wouldn't!" Draco barked losing his own temper, "exactly the point! So why would I need to use a potion, that I didn't know existed, in an impossibly stealthy way?" he glared for a moment to emphasise how ridiculous it all was, and then said dismissively, "You're an idiot. I can't believe your stupid fucking opinion matters to me."

He was quite fucked, Draco knew that as he turned and made to descend the stairs, he had no idea where to start clearing his name, but he didn't think a good first step would be punching an ill Harry Potter in the face, and that was what was going to happen if he stayed on the tiny landing for one more moment.

He heard Harry stumble behind him and then a hand seized his elbow, "Wait, Mal- Draco, wait," Harry said, he looked almost scared, his green eyes wide behind his glasses, "it's been messing with my head," he said beseechingly, "will I go back to normal now, will I stop thinking about you?"

"Let go," Draco growled at him, twitching his arm, and Harry dropped it immediately, "I don't know if you'll be normal again," Draco said, "I don't know anything about it because I didn't do it! Why would it make you think about _me_?" he finished through gritted teeth. It took a moment for Harry's words to filter through the rage in his brain, but when they did he repeated faintly, "Thinking about me?"

Harry was staring, he looked a little stunned, "Never mind," he started, but heavy footsteps on the stairs behind them interrupted him, Draco tuned and raised his wand instinctively.

"Lower your wand Malfoy," It was Ron Weasley, in Auror kit from head to toe and his own wand aimed at Draco's chest, "I don't want to take you in by force, even if you are holding my wife and daughter prisoner."

Draco would never admit it aloud for as long as he lived, but he was a tiny bit afraid of Weasley at that moment, he lowered his wand just as Harry looked at him in horror, _"What?"_

'_Prisoner'_ was the right term Draco supposed, but it sounded much worse when you didn't mention, '_for five minutes in a comfortable room with a house-elf at her immediate call if she needed anything.' _"They're in the drawing room," Draco said, "it's not even been ten minutes."

"I know," said Ron. Not sounding at all bothered. Draco was busy wondering how Ron had ended up here at all. He didn't think Team Leading Aurors were allowed to just pop out to visit their mates at nine-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday.

"Why didn't you let them out?" Harry asked. He was leaning on the banister now, paler than ever.

Ron gave him a look and said, "Do you really want an angry Hermione complicating this? Right. I heard enough of that – Malfoy you sticking by your story? You had nothing to do with it?"

"Yes," Draco said, struggling with the very foreign feeling of being _glad_ that Ron Weasley was present. "I have never given anybody sententia, _ever_. I think it's cheating and immoral."

Ron nodded, "Okay, Harry I'm going to escort Malfoy from the house, but there's no proof he's broken any law, since Hermione let him in in the first place, so he will be free to go and we can let the lawyers deal with this."

"Okay," Harry said, Draco could see he wouldn't be upright for much longer, all the fight had gone out of him.

Ron looked worriedly at his friend for a moment and then twitched the end of his wand and said, "Come along Malfoy."

Draco glanced back at Harry who was trying very hard to hide his failing strength, jaw clenched and his knuckles white on the balustrade, "You know it wasn't me Potter." Draco said firmly, "Don't waste your money on an investigation."

Harry shook his head but didn't speak and Ron said "Go and lie down mate, Hermione said you'll feel better in a few hours." Then he shepherded Draco back down the stairs.

They passed the drawing room door and Draco called, "I'm very sorry Granger." He pulled Hermione's wand from his sleeve and held it out to Ron, "how did you know to come?" he asked.

"Thanks," Ron pocketed the wand, "Hermione," he said, indicating the door with his thumb, "there's a floo network hearth in the drawing room – Hermione called me."

"Why is she still in there then?" Draco asked

Ron looked at him surprised, "You can't take a six-month-old through the floo, it's worse for them than shaking."

"Oh," Draco said intelligently. Another bizarre moment he thought, being taught something about the wizarding world by Weasley.

They reached the front door and Ron said, "Don't go far Malfoy, it will make you look guilty if you try to get away."

"You don't think I am?" Draco said shrewdly, he could tell that Ron was at least reserving judgement on the situation.

Ron knitted his brow and gave him an Aurorly sizing up, "_I_ think you're far too clever to get caught doing something so stupid. I also think that Hermione is just so horrified at the idea of this potion being used at all that she wants to burn The Prophet offices to the ground – and you are the only person she knows that works there so you get the brunt." He sighed, "And Harry, merlin knows, but I heard the end of your conversation up there, I'd say he's got a few things to sort out."

Draco could feel his eyebrows travelling up his forehead as Ron spoke, since when did Ron-bloody-Weasley become so wise? The world was quite plainly coming to an end.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco had been wrong in his assumption. The world had not come to an end, in fact, it was still exactly the same as it had been exactly one week ago. Harry Potter had not ruined his career, Granger had not appeared with an army of law-waving soldiers behind her to drag Draco from his desk in The Prophet offices. And his bank account still only contained the remnants of his last pay packet, not the partial fee he had been promised in the letter from Granger.

This lack of payment was the reason Draco was, for want of a better word, _hovering_ at the edge of Number Eleven Grimmauld place. Surely a week was enough time for a man as wealthy as Potter, with as little to do as Potter, to find room in his schedule (of _nothing_) to pay Draco for his efforts.

It wasn't fear of demanding the gold from Potter that had Draco loitering at his neighbour's fence. It was that his breeding and generally well-mannered sensibilities were recoiling at the idea of debt collection on his own behalf. It seemed both desperate and indecorous, but as he was not in the position or, to be honest, of the inclination to employ enforcers, it fell to him to round up what he was owed.

He looked at his watch, he had been here for ten minutes. It was getting ridiculous, it was his lunch break and he shouldn't have to waste it pacing next to Eleven's bins. Seizing on to this little bit of indignation Draco strode purposefully along the footpath, opened the narrow wrought iron gate of Number Twelve and made it all the way to the front steps. He really wasn't scared, he told himself, he was just a little on edge due to lack of sleep. Draco had endured a very stressful week of waiting for his career to go up in smoke when the story of the Potter poisoning got out. He had also spent a lot of time having arguments in his head with Harry, where he convinced the idiot that it wasn't him behind the sententia.

Draco had only been able to come up with one logical conclusion regarding Potter's ingestion of the potion - logical to Draco's middle-of-the-night-brain anyway - lying awake pondering the situation had become a worrying habit. The only other Prophet staffer that had even the slightest connection to Harry was Nathan Willis since he was Ginny's friend, flirting buddy and sententia connoisseur. Draco thought he was trying to get Ginny to dump a constantly opinionated Potter so she would go out with him instead. Very plausible this seemed at three am, until, every time Draco came to the _how_ – because he didn't think Ginny would be very impressed if she knew… so Draco was stumped.

Then his overtired brain would be reduced to madness on auto-loop. Perhaps Granger was sick of just being the brains and wanted some credit? Maybe Ron didn't want Harry to ever come back to work at the Auror Office? Or was it Kreacher on a misguided vigilante mission to reclaim the house for the name of Black? These questionable and unlikely causes circled repeatedly through Draco's head til dawn. _Every_ dawn for the last seven days.

Because of this, Draco thought it was quite understandable to be feeling a little fragile and not really prepared to have an angry Harry Potter telling him he didn't deserve to be paid because he'd accidentally tried to kill him. But still, gold was gold so he drew himself up and knocked sharply on the heavy door.

The door creaked inward and the worried little face of Kreacher appeared.

"Mr Malfoy," he said, his voice croaking as he kept it low, "Kreacher is glad you is here. Master Harry is needing his friend."

"Friend?" Draco repeated, thrown by the unexpected greeting, "I'm here on business. Potter owes me gold I'm here to collect it."

The elf's eyes narrowed and he said slowly, "You is not here to cheer Master Harry up?"

"No," Draco said firmly, annoyed at himself for the inappropriate little voice in his head that suggested ways in which Harry could be cheered up. "He was supposed to deposit gold into my account for the time I spent working for him but he did not. I deserve to be paid."

Kreacher frowned up at him, "But Master Harry fixed that. The goblins cannot read my masters perfectly legible handwriting Mr Malfoy, you should not blame Master Harry for the greedy long fingered fiend's mistakes."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about." Draco could hear his mother's voice in his head, she would be horrified at the idea of a house-elf speaking of its masters private affairs. But then Draco thought that Kreacher was allowed many freedoms the house-elves of the manor never were. Perhaps Harry wouldn't mind that his elf was such a chatter-box.

"The goblins paid Master Harry's healer instead of you." Kreacher explained, "Master Harry says they hold a grudge against your name and used it as an excuse to –" the elf raised his knarled hands and sketched quotation marks as he finished his sentence with what was obviously Harry's terminology, "– _piss you about'_, they just sent another letter this morning correcting their mistake. Master Harry was very angry at them, then he was angry at the paper for printing rubbish about his trip to the hospital yesterday. Master Harry has been very grumpy since his argument with Miss Ginny on Saturday morning and he needs to be cheered up."

Draco stared, he had the distinct impression that he had just been given an order by a house-elf. "And what if I'm not here to cheer Potter up?"

"Then you will not be permitted entrance into the home of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black." Kreacher said stubbornly, and began to push the door shut.

"My mother was a Black," Draco tried, hastily taking a step closer.

"Yes," the elf allowed, "Miss Cissy. Kreacher has met her, but Master Harry was bequeathed this house by Master Sirius, the last with the name of Black. And Master Harry has done Kreacher many kindnesses so, if you are here to make Master Harry more grumpy then you will not pass this door, it is a house-elf's job to see to the well-being of his master. Kreacher will do his duty."

"Fine," Draco said, not wanting to annoy the vehement elf any further. "If the mistake with the payment has been fixed then I would like to thank Harry." He wanted to do no such thing but the 'argument with Miss Ginny' was something Draco would like to find out a bit more about.

"Very well," said the elf, his attitude changing immediately, he turned to lead the way to the first floor, "follow me Mr Malfoy."

When Kreacher pushed open the door to the drawing room it took Draco's eyes a few seconds to adjust, the room was very dim, the dark light-blocking drapes were pulled at the long sash windows, but the lamp that hung from the celling was not lit. The photo-frame covered walls were still the same, the Gryffindorness of the occupants blatant.

The next thing Draco noticed made him snort disparagingly. Harry was lying on the sofa, the very picture of mawkish gloom, staring blankly up at the dark lamp. Draco was sure any moment Harry would sigh dramatically and throw his arm over his face, so overcome with depressing thoughts as he seemed to be. But at Draco's snort, which was accidentally louder than he meant it to be, Harry raised himself on his elbow and squinted in the direction of the door. "Brilliant," he said acerbically, flopping backwards again. "Come for a laugh have you?"

"Not intentionally," Draco said, shocked not to be told to leave immediately, he couldn't help himself, "your impression of a maudlin teenager is quite humorous however."

"Bugger off," Harry said to the ceiling.

Draco wasn't planning on leaving until Harry provided proof that he had made the payment, and hopefully until he found out what the argument with Ginny had been about. "Your elf tells me you need to be cheered up Potter." Draco said off-handedly, "He seemed to think_ I_ would be a good candidate. Is he unaware that you think me a poisoner and a cheat?"

Harry sighed, "I know it wasn't you," he said turning his head to look at Draco, "I had doubts from the beginning that it was, but I couldn't ignore the evidence."

Despite the wave of relief surging through Draco he bristled at the casual tone, didn't Harry realise Draco had been expecting to be vilified far and wide for an attack on the Saviour at any moment? He struggled to keep his tone calm, his fists clenched at his sides as he still stood near the door, "Do you find it ironic that you are as bad as the press you claim to hate so much?" Draco asked pointedly.

Harry sat upright, he looked somewhat taken aback, "I am not."

"True," Draco said haughtily, "you're _worse_, the press at least print a retraction when false accusations are made." Harry had the decency to look ashamed, but Draco continued, he deserved some answers at least, "So, who was it? And why wasn't I told? You do realise how much this has worried me, the fact that you had the power to ruin me the moment you decided to? All I have is reputation Potter, nothing else."

Harry seemed to cringe. "Sorry, I did convince Hermione not to tell anyone until she had proof. But you can stop worrying, it's over. I know who it was and it won't be happening again." He sounded miserable.

Draco felt a bit guilty for making him sad, but it didn't stop him trying once more "Who?"

"None of your business." Harry snapped and Draco realised he'd pushed him too far.

"Right," Draco said quickly, he took a seat in the chair opposite Harry's couch, "the reason I came here was the partial fee we agreed on, it still hasn't been - "

"Don't get me started on the fucking goblins." Harry cut him off, obviously furious, surprising Draco, he had always thought of Harry as a tolerant of all creatures' type. "For the first time in my life I was glad to see one of your dad's old mates," Harry said, "The goblin was refusing to find an error, an error I knew existed because Healer Mallog had owled me to say he'd been over paid for his house call. But Travers intervened, pointed out the problem straight away and did a new transfer – you should have got it this morning."

"I don't follow," Draco said. Travers of Gringotts, was the brother of the more _ambitious_ Travers who had ended up in Azkaban after the war.

"The archive accounts are name referenced only," Harry explained, "I sent a written request for payment to be made to your account and the slimy little buggers decided Malfoy and Mallog looked enough alike for them to get away with not paying you, and therefore muck you around for being one of the wizards that took Gringotts from them."

Draco'd had enough issues deciphering Harry's handwriting himself to think that maybe the mistake wasn't as malevolent as it seemed. "That's a bit insane given Travers is working there." Draco said voicing the other hole in the goblins apparent grudgery.

"He doesn't have a mark." Harry said dismissively, "And his family were some of the most heavily taxed with reparations. I think the goblins might actually consider his debt paid – helped by the fact that he has added to his payments by working for them. But he'd be one of the only ones."

"Merlin," Draco said, disliking the reminder of his past. "Those little fuckers. In that case I apologise for the strongly worded letter," Draco said, he had been so frustrated after he had checked his account balance at lunchtime yesterday that he'd – possibly a little unwisely – called Harry a number of unpleasant names pertaining to his cheapness and ungentlemanly conduct in a letter sent directly after he returned to the office.

But Harry gave him a rueful little grin, "Don't, it's the only thing that's been cheering me up." He reached out to the coffee table that was littered with scraps of parchment and pulled from amongst them what looked to be Draco's letter. He scanned it and said, "To be called a '_boorish and deceitful skinflint' _was quite refreshing after all that guff in the paper yesterday."

"I saw that," Draco said. He'd been startled to see new photos of Harry attached to yesterday's edition. They'd been taken as he'd left St Mungo's on Sunday. Draco had assumed that Harry had been in for a check-up, even the great Harry Potter only got house-calls if he was really sick.

The lifestyle-whores had out done themselves with a half-page indulgence. Photographs and little bold print boxes holding suggestive excerpts. Harry quitting his job was the main topic, something Draco couldn't believe it had taken so long to make it to the paper. Ron was mentioned, refusing to comment – obviously a massive cover-up – and it all came to a close with the suggestion that although Harry looked fit and healthy and like he'd been on holiday, actually he was at St Mungo's because he was dying.

"You could help yourself by looking less brooding and mysterious when you go to the hospital." Draco said wryly, even though he had admired Harry's ability to take a decent photo these days, "And there was absolutely no need for you to dress so provocatively. Honestly, jeans? You were gagging for a leadingly written piece about how well exile suited you."

Harry blinked, turned a little pink and then laughed. "Kreacher is a wise elf." he said.

Draco really didn't know where his own anger had gone. He was quite worried that it could just up and leave at the sight of a mopey Harry Potter. He was still annoyed that he had been losing sleep over a non-event though. "So Potter, tell me who it was."

Harry's pleased expression vanished at once. "No, it's sorted out, don't worry about it."

Draco wasn't having that. "It was Willis wasn't it?" he said, "He looked far too happy this morning."

"He did?" Harry asked, resigned, "I guess it doesn't matter."

"Come on," Draco encouraged.

Harry seemed to sag against the couch, he huffed out a breath, looked at Draco with an odd mix of defeat and annoyance and said, "He _was_ where it came from, but it was never meant to get so out of control." Harry blinked and rolled the edge of Draco's letter between his fingers as he continued, sounding very much like he just wanted to get it out. "He'd told Ginny about sententia ages ago, and she has been wanting me to tell her why I don't want to get married, or move in together or whatever, so she put in my drink at Greengrass Moor, because we were supposed to be leaving right after that and she was staying with me and thought I'd give her some proper answers, before she left with the Harpies, but instead, apparently because I was already quite, er, trollied, it just made me super pissed off."

"She did it _knowingly_?" Draco exclaimed.

"How did you know she did it at all?" Harry asked, looking up from the letter, his brow crinkled.

Draco shrugged, "I saw them together, her and Willis, but at the time I thought she might be victim, because he uses it on everyone apparently, and I thought he might have had designs on her, but then Marc told me they were old friends."

"Who's Marc?" Harry asked.

"He works with me," Draco said, "Marcus Belby, he was at school with us."

"Oh," Harry said. Then as if dreading the answer he asked, "Do lots of people at The Prophet know about the poisoning?"

"No, I've not heard a thing, and I'm sure they would have mentioned in the St Mungo's article if it was even a rumour."

Harry nodded to himself, "That's what I thought." he said.

"I only thought the sententia could have come from Ginny because Marc told me she and Willis were friends last week." Draco said, "You've been out of contact with everyone, I figured she's the only one with a connection to The Prophet, so I must have been coming from her."

"Well aren't you clever." Harry muttered.

"Not really, I didn't think she'd do it on purpose. Though, I suppose if she got the same information I did she would have thought it a harmless way to get her boyfriend to open up a bit." _Merlin, why was he making excuses for the silly cow?_ "I had no idea it could make you so sick." Draco said truthfully. He was still a little haunted by the pale faced, weak Potter he had seen last Tuesday, even though he was completely healed by the look of him.

"Hmm," said Harry introspectively, "I bet she wouldn't mind now. It was a good thing Hermione arrived to see how I was on Saturday or I would still have flapping bogies all over my face. I never could get the countercharm to that right."

"Your elf mentioned a disagreement." Draco said, hiding his interest. Which was, of course, just plain curiosity, and nothing more.

"Yeah, that's a bit of an understatement." Harry said, his mouth twisted guiltily and he began fiddling with the letter again, "More like me losing my temper when she told me it was her and her sodding Butterbeer. I called her a few names, and may have implied that I thought she was cheating on me. Which I don't actually think, I was just so angry." He finished, sounding almost apologetic.

"No," Draco said guilelessly, "why would she go to effort of drugging you if she was just going to run off with someone else?"

"Christ that is a depressing sentence." Harry said, giving up with the letter and falling back on the cushions to look at the ceiling once more.

"Buck up," Draco said, "The Prophet is on your side again, you'll have girls desperate to help mend your broken heart once … you have broken up I take it?" he asked, realising Harry hadn't actually said that.

"Yup." Harry nodded, "Even I won't put up with being poisoned."

Draco had the mad desire to laugh, it would be so _Potter_ to just accept Ginny's actions, to think that it was his fault for not talking to her. "So did you tell her?"

"Tell her?" Harry looked at him again, his face confused.

"Why you don't want to marry her…" Draco said encouragingly, he rather wanted to know the answer himself.

"No! As if I want the whole bloody world knowing that." Harry said fervently, "She's pissed enough at me to tell anyone that asks."

"Knowing what?" Draco asked, unable to keep himself from leaning forward just a little.

"Nope," said Harry, and he smiled, "it's nice being able to keep things to myself" he said. "You don't need to know either."

Draco was a successful journalist for a reason, he always knew the right time to push someone for an answer, and looking at the pleased little smile on Harry's face, he knew it wasn't now. But he wanted another chance. "So I guess this means you want to carry on with the book then," he said casually, "since you didn't need to fire me in the first place because you can still trust me."

Harry frowned, "I hadn't thought about it. I didn't think I'd see you for a while, I guessed you'd be too shitty with me for blaming you, I've been trying to write you an apology since I found out, but it always sounded fake on paper." He gestured to the scraps of parchment all over the table and Draco's chest seemed to constrict just a little bit. The man was so hopelessly honest, why Ginny thought she needed a potion to get him to talk baffled Draco.

Draco resisted the urge to start reading the half-finished apology notes and met Harry's eye, "all the reasons we started this haven't changed, and now I have I have one more to add – independence from the Prophet so I can tell the public about sententia without ending up broke."

"I can't believe you would still want to work with me after all this." Harry muttered almost to himself, "Since when are Malfoy's so graciously forgiving?"

"I'm not sure," Draco said, trying to stop himself from smiling, "but Ron Weasley and I have had two very calm and reasonable conversations in the last month, I'd say there is some pretty unusual stuff going on."

"He's not best pleased with me," Harry said, "or Hermione."

"They can't honestly blame you for getting poisoned?" Draco said, unable to guess why the Chosen One's stooges would turn on him.

"No, but they're both unhappy about the reason why," he shook his head, "It doesn't matter, they'll come around."

"I'm sure," Draco said, leaving the reference to this _reason_ alone and focusing on work, if it was what he thought he'd find out eventually. "So would you like a new contract drawn up or …?"

"Nah, let's just stick with the old one, get your guy to add a bit about your fee minus what I've already paid you and I'll be happy with that."

"Okay," Draco said, trying very hard not to bounce on the couch cushions like an excited little boy, he felt light with relief, "Shall I send it to Granger for approval or is she too grumpy with you?"

"Send it to her, she'll be fine," Harry said, with a half laugh, "they're only being pissy as a formality, one of the hazards of dating within the family – I called Ron's baby sister a slut, to her face, he has to be mad for at least a week, no matter what she did." He shrugged, "it's the rules."


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N:**__ Two chapters in three days, not bad! There won't be any more until next week though – apparently I have a job to go to. _

* * *

Draco returned to the office directly after his successful conversation with Harry feeling better than he could have imagined that morning. He didn't particularly like the idea that Harry's trust affected his own state of mind so much but he'd deal with that later.

"Oh thank merlin and all his eager to please apprentices!" It was Marc, unsurprisingly, Draco didn't know anyone else who could be quite so vulgarly cheerful. "Back on with the boyfriend are we?" He swivelled in his chair to ask as Draco passed his cubicle on the way to his own.

"For goodness sake," Draco hissed, unable to find the right amount of anger, because he was sure the relief at being re-employed, and having secured his reputation was radiating from him so strongly Marc could probably see it. "Will you not say such ridiculous things so loudly?"

"I'm just glad I don't have to look at your smacked arse face anymore," Marc said chirpily, getting up and following Draco who had not paused on route to his desk, "Did he forgive you then? The mystery man?"

Draco stopped and exhaled in frustration, "Marc," he said, in a dangerously quiet voice, withdrawing his wand and hopefully channelling Severus Snape to the best of his ability, "for the last fucking time, there is no boyfriend."

Marc had taken half a step back, his eyes on Draco's wand. "Fine." he said, sounding like a slightly more cautious version of himself. But as quickly as it had come the caution vanished and he added, "Put that away you twat,"

Draco rolled his eyes and stowed his wand. He dumped his satchel on his desk, noticing too late that there was a little pile of in-house receipt scrolls on the surface, his bag landed heavily and sent the scrolls rolling in every direction. Sighing in defeat, he collected two from the seat of his chair and leaned across his desk to reach a couple more from the far corner.

"What have you got all these for?" Marc asked, snatching a fallen few that had made it all the way to the floor.

"For nothing," Draco said in confusion, "I didn't put these here." He unravelled one, it was an invoice from Flourish and Blotts, for parchment and scroll butts, stamped by the clerks from downstairs and signed off by Cuffe. Just a pointless piece of the endless paper trail that was business management.

"Oh," said Marc, "maybe an intern left them in the wrong place, I found an old copy of Cuffe's schedule on my desk last week. From all the way back in February. Sometimes I wonder if they are just trying to mess with us."

Draco thought the interns were far too involved in their own melodrama to bother with annoying old fuddy-duddies. Draco's hatred of interns was a recent thing, stemming from a conversation earlier in the year. A jaunty little blonde sprite had told him he had quite fashionable hair, _for, you know, an older guy_. Since when was twenty bloody three – or two as he had been at the time – an _older guy_? Silly little bint. "Perhaps," said Draco taking the scrolls, "what am I supposed to do with them now?" He asked, unwilling to babysit company property any longer than necessary.

"Take them down to the clerk's office I suppose." Marc said, "You wouldn't want them to catch you with their stuff."

Draco thought that he was probably right, the accounts clerks did not seem to possess any sense of humour, or for that matter _human,_ at all. Running the payroll and The Prophets coffers apparently required a grim expression at all times and a proficiency in loud exasperated sighs. Fluency in sarcasm was also desirable.

Being told off by a sarcastically grim clerk was not something Draco wished to experience. It was unwise to argue back with the people that controlled your pay.

"Right," Draco said, still feeling elated enough from his lunchtime's work that going out of his way for someone else didn't seem too annoying. He loaded the scrolls into his empty out-tray for travel and held it out for the ones Marc was still clutching.

"You can tell me why you're so happy on the way." Mark said, adding his three to the tray.

"I can't," Draco said, and Marc pouted, "Not yet. I will soon though."

They made their way back through the bullpen and past the offices of Cuffe and Betty, the latter of which was sitting at her desk, she looked up and watched the two men pass, giving them a weird little nod. Draco did a double take, Betty Braithwaite had two expressions in his experience: fake smile and death glare. A nod of acknowledgment was a bizarre new addition.

Marc held the door to the stairs open and said as Draco passed, "Well if you're going to tell me eventually you might as well just do it now…." He trailed off hopefully.

Draco raised an eyebrow and Marc just shrugged, quite unapologetic about his intrusiveness.

Once they had left the stairwell, Draco managed to distract Marc from his relentless questioning by commenting on the on-display fitness of one of the slightly frightening, but very buff printer's devils as they passed the entrance to the Press Hall. This and the clerk's office were the only things down stairs. The Press Hall housed, as the name would suggest, the massive printing press that shot out copies of the Daily Prophet every day. Magic assisted in the setting of type and the addition of photographs but otherwise the press itself had remained unchanged since The Prophet's first edition in 1696.

The burly men whose job it was to work the vast wheels of the press, and move the huge heavy sheets of set iron type pieces into place, were kept in very good shape by their work. Draco didn't really understand why these jobs couldn't be done by magic, but the one time he had asked Cuffe, on his first day three years ago, his boss had said that it was tradition. Draco had supposed at the time that despite the fact that magic could do the job faster and more accurately and, _for free_, tradition for the sake of tradition was a very wizardish notion and he'd not questioned it since.

Draco pushed open the swinging door to the clerk's office, and he and Marc crossed the short space to the high counter that blocked off the rest of the room, behind it Draco could see ten or so half-cubicles, all empty.

Behind the counter there was one portly, frumpy bloused woman perched on a stool whose seat looked in danger of disappearing completely into the ample width of her bottom. She only looked up from the magazine she was flipping through when Marc cleared his throat.

"Yes?' She said, her eyes dropping back to the glossy page of Witch Weekly even before Draco spoke.

He put the tray of scrolls on the counter in front of her, and said "I found these upstairs."

"That's nice," she replied, sparing the tray the briefest of glances.

"They're receipts," Draco said through his teeth, "I assume someone down here will be looking for them."

"Maybe," said the woman. And she finally put her magazine aside, "just leave them here, I'll ask when everyone gets back from lunch."

"Okay," said Draco, and he picked up his out-tray and up-ended it, the scrolls tipping in flurry of neatly rolled parchment all over the counter top. He ignored her disgruntled sniff, and said "Have a pleasant day." Then turned and pulled the door to the corridor open and strode from the room.

Marc followed quickly. "That was a bit unnecessary," he scolded half-heartedly.

"Was it?" Draco asked airily, "Grouchy old cow." he said.

Marc sniggered, they passed the door to the Press Hall again and paused to watch as the huge type-frame was hauled upwards by two men, both exerting more effort than Draco thought he ever had in his life, and Marc said slightly wistfully, "Do you think if I got a job in there I could eat chips more than once a week?"

"If _you_ did that all day long?" Draco laughed as a sheet of iron as wide as a double bed and covered in hundreds of rows of carefully arranged tiny type pieces, was slotted into place with a grunting effort from the press workers. "If we relied on you to set the type the paper would never even get printed in the first place."

"Point," Marc said, and he didn't seem offended in the slightest.

* * *

Once again Draco was to be found pacing somewhat apprehensively outside Number Twelve. Only this time it was at ten thirty on Wednesday evening, and he didn't do it for long because he was worried he'd be arrested by the muggle police for being a peeping tom. He'd received the contract back from Granger not long after he got home from work that day. The addendum approved and a short note apologising for her hasty dismissal of him attached.

Draco didn't really want an apology from her, he had taken her wand and locked her and her baby in a room after all. He sort of assumed they would just call it even and move on.

He looked down at the thick parchment envelope clutched in his hand, would Harry think it out of place, Draco showing up unannounced? Harry knew the contract had been approved, he'd had to initial it in Grangers presence. So Draco really had no reason to be here, other than because he wanted to be, which was slightly problematic.

He was just worried about Harry he told himself, the man had recently found out he'd been poisoned by his childhood sweet-heart, surely Draco looking in on him was the friendly thing to do. And they were sort of friends, so maybe it wasn't that weird after all …

Draco had a feeling that because he'd spent longer constructing an argument for his visit than he did on most of his stories for the paper indicated there was obviously a bit more going on than he willing to acknowledge.

Draco's internal battle with denial, or perhaps it was just purposeful ignoring, took him all the way to the front door. He knocked and it took longer than usual before the old hinges creaked as the door opened.

"Mr Malfoy," Kreacher said when he opened the door, the entryway behind him was flickering as the gas lamps stuttered into life, "Master Harry is not usually having visitors so late."

"I just wanted to speak to him for a moment," Draco said, wondering if Kreachers mothering bothered Harry as much as it would himself, "it's work related, it won't take long –"

"Kreacher?" Harry's voice called from the direction of the kitchen, Draco could hear him coming up the stairs toward the front door, "Who is it?" He appeared in the doorway, obviously ready for bed in pyjama bottoms and vest. "Oh hi," he said there was still an aura of melancholy about him, a frown creasing his brow, "did you forget something the other day?" He spied the envelope in Draco's hand, "Is there something wrong with that? Hermione said it was fine."

"No, no," Draco said, "I just brought you a copy." It sounded even more feeble out loud, and Harry was still frowning at him, although it was a look of consternation rather than one of annoyance. Draco was somewhat distracted by the amount of skin Harry was displaying to care too much either way, he really should call this late in the evening more often.

"Are you checking up on me?" Harry asked shrewdly, as he came closer and reached out to take the contract from Draco.

"No," Draco said automatically, "I was organising the information we've collected, since we need to get cracking if we're going to meet our deadline, and that turned up so I thought I'd drop it round. "

"Oh," Harry said hollowly, he turned the envelope over in his hands, as if it would cheer him up and Draco wished he wouldn't. Did he not realise how he looked, stood there half-naked, all broad shoulders and tanned arms, head hung in apparent despondency that Draco wasn't checking up on him? _Hang on_ Draco thought, "Potter did you _want_ me to be checking up on you?"

"Er…" Harry's frown looked uncertain now and Draco's heart thudded a little harder, was he imagining it? Seeing things that weren't there? Harry and his secretive reason for not getting married, it all seemed to point in a very favourable direction in Draco's opinion, but he really wasn't bold enough to actually ask. "Well," Harry said, with a heavy exhale, "it's just everyone is pretty shitty with me at the moment, what with Ginny and the yelling et cetera, I just thought, well, it would be nice if you were." He seemed to wince a little at the bluntness of his words but continued, "even Ron and Hermione are proper pissy, they'll come around eventually but I dunno, Hermione was definitely grumpy for real when we were signing that today, and It sucks dealing with this by myself, and since I'm afraid to drink anything in the house now…"

Draco felt a little stab of disappointment. _Foolish_ he said to himself, of course Potter just wanted a bit of company. He was upset about losing his girlfriend and having the Weasley-Grangers angry at him, even if it was only temporary. Why did Draco's imagination have to get the better of him?

"Right," Draco said briskly to cover his hesitation, "I don't trust your alcohol supply either, do you want to go out and get a drink? There are muggle places nearby, I'm sure no one would recognise you."

"Go out for a drink?" Harry repeated.

Draco suddenly realised how much it sounded like a date on repetition. "You said you wanted a drink, but all of yours are out of the question, going out is the next logical plan." Draco hastened to clarify.

"Alright," Harry said, brightening at once, "I guess it is. I'll just get changed then." and he darted up the stairs with far more energy than Draco was expecting.

_Fuck _Draco thought as he waited. This was not at all in the plan, not that there really was a plan, but asking Harry out on a fucking date had not factored into Draco's thoughts, _ever_. He supposed it wasn't a date, just two blokes getting a beer, like he would with Marc. However, his inner pervy voice ruined his reasoning when Harry came back down stairs and it pointed out that he'd never felt quite so disappointed that _Marc_ had put a shirt on.

* * *

It was ridiculous to be nervous Harry thought as he walked next to Draco towards the closest muggle pub. They were just going for a pint, that was all – commiserating Ginny's betrayal, nothing odd about that, except that the betrayal was the only thing that Harry was upset about where Ginny was concerned, the loss of his girlfriend bothered him very little.

In fact he couldn't really tell if it was the lack of sententia in his bloodstream or just realising how absent he'd been for the last few years that made him feel so much more aware now. To have such a normal reaction to the situation was kind of brilliant, Harry thought. He'd been sad and lonely with everyone shutting him out for mouthing off. Not to mention a bit nervous about how clearly his mind, and other parts, insisted that he was attracted to men as well as women, and Draco in particular. But when your friends where upset with you and your girlfriend had hurt you, you were supposed to be a bit blue, he was pleased to feel just like anyone else would.

Harry was also struggling with the confusing concept of his own sadness making him happy but he could figure that out later. The unpleasantness that hung with him from the war still intruded from time to time but he could see a future for himself again, it was like he had been unjumbled.

He glanced at Draco, he was tight jawed and slightly jerky as he walked beside him in the brisk London night. Was he aware that Harry had this nagging little thing for him? Did he regret his offer of drinking companion?

They walked in silence along Grimmauld Place, the summer seemed to be leaving quickly now, Harry thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket and looked around to distract from the awkwardness. The dead grass of the square was a weird and uneven silver carpet in the bright three-quarter moon that was sitting low in the sky. Clouds scudded intermittently across its face casting eerily moving shadows on the pale grass.

In the shade of the tall houses that lined Grimmauld Place the streetlamps buzzed and lit the footpath with unnatural orange, Harry didn't think that telling Draco the light made his blonde hair look Weasley-esque would improve his mood, so he cast around for something else to say.

"Will you be in trouble with your wife for working so late?" Harry asked eventually, offering Draco a reason to leave if he wanted it. He was a little panicky about being out in public himself, the trip to the hospital had been bad enough. He was wondering if he'd be better off turning around and going home.

Draco's eyes snapped to him, "No," he said, she knows how important my _work_ is to me." Draco looked almost offended Harry thought. "She was entertaining her latest concubine when I left anyway, so I doubt she'd miss me."

_Concubine?_ Thought Harry, good god the man used the most antiquated words in real life of anyone Harry had ever met, including Hermione. The meaning was clear though; Draco's wife was not a faithful one. "I didn't realise," Harry said, feeling guilty for bringing it up, here he was feeling so sorry for himself when Draco's situation was probably much more difficult to deal with, "When you said you weren't married for love … does it bother you?" he asked, unable to help himself

"Does what bother me?" Draco asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"That your wife sleeps with other men." Harry said, he'd thought it was quite obvious.

Draco glanced sideways at Harry and quirked an eyebrow, "She doesn't, concubine's are female."

"I know _that_, I just thought it was your way of – ," he huffed and flapped a hand to indicate Draco's … Draco-ness. "Never mind," Harry said, a little frustrated with the whole thing, but much more confused by the way Draco did not seem to care that his wife was cheating on him, with _women_. "Do you really not mind?" He asked.

"Not particularly," Draco said as they rounded the corner. The terraced houses in this street were newer than in Grimmauld place, and instead of the tall rusted iron fences, there was a low brick wall and a hedge separating the footpath from the luxury of the meagre strip of front lawn they possessed. Draco gave a little half-laugh and added, "It would be a little hypocritical of me, considering my own preferences,"

"Your own…" Harry stopped dead as the meaning of this sentence sunk in, he blinked several times trying to gather his scattered thoughts, Draco was looking at him as though he was a little crazy and Harry managed to mutter, "_You're_ gay?… oh fucking _hell_."

His brilliant, it-doesn't-matter-that-I-have-a-crush-on-you-because-you're-straight-and-_married_ safety net had been snatched away. But Before Harry's muddled brain could get any further along the string of implications, Draco's most cutting tone intervened.

"Is that a problem for you Potter?" Draco had stopped walking too and was glaring, quite obviously offended. Harry realised, too late, how his words must have sounded.

"No, I didn't mean –" Harry began, but he was out of his depth, he had no idea what he meant.

"You didn't mean what?" Draco asked, his voice still icy, "Your obvious horror at my sexuality? Merlin, it's not like it will affect my work." He looked up and down the street and Harry was afraid he would disapparate.

"Not horror," Harry said quickly, he took a step closer, to do what he wasn't sure, "I just – Christ I had no idea."

Draco stared at him with narrowed eyes, appraising. Harry felt uncomfortably scrutinised but was just glad Draco hadn't left. "Well you _are_ reasonably self-absorbed." said Draco, sounding pissed off, but in the normal, impatient way he always did. "It's not something I hide."

"I'm not self-absorbed," Harry said, a little stung, he backed away from Draco and perched on the wall behind them, he crossed his arms and said, "Every time we've met I've been under the influence of that bloody potion. You can't blame me for not noticing, it's not like you advertise it either." Harry sent Draco a glare of his own and finished bluntly, "You're married to a _woman_."

Draco's eyebrows rose in surprise and he looked marginally uncomfortable for a moment, apparently rather interested in Number Twenty-seven's Pittosporums, but then he smirked and asked pointedly, "And why does it matter to _you_ anyway Potter?"

Something heavy dropped into Harry's stomach, he hadn't expected that. Telling Ron and Hermione had been weird enough. He knew he didn't have to, but Ron had already seemed to know, Harry hadn't mentioned Draco, it was too scary to say _that_ aloud just yet. But he had admitted he wasn't sure if he preferred men or women best – Ron had just nodded and said, "_You still shouldn't have been such a nasty prat to Ginny, even though she was a stupid cow."_ Hermione on the other hand was worried, "_Are you sure? You don't think it's a side-effect from the sententia? Why would you keep that a secret from us for so long?"_ Harry didn't have an answer for her and that had made her grumpy, rather than worried, and they had left shortly afterward.

But Draco was gay, he might actually understand, Harry thought. It wasn't like Harry had to tell him how he'd come to the realisation that he found men attractive. That it was Draco and his half hidden smiles, his dry humour that snuck out occasionally and the way he seemed to listen but be impatient at the same time. Harry supposed the warm grey eyes and well defined features probably had something to do with it was well. He lifted his head to see Draco staring up at the house behind them, his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers, rocking back and forward on the balls of his feet. Harry thought Draco might already know the answer to his own question, he seemed rather smug.

"Recently I've noticed," Harry started, unable to raise his voice to the previous level, inner pep talk or not, he was still nervous, "my own… er, _preferences_ are not as black and white as I thought."

"Really?" Draco asked in his old condescending drawl, "And what, you think that all gay men are attracted to all other gay men?"

"No of course not," Harry retorted, regretting his candour at once, he glowered up at Draco and said tetchily, "Look, I don't have anyone to talk to about this but if you're just going to be a snarky prick then I won't bother."

Harry expected a Draco-style dressing down but instead the straight shoulders sagged a little and he took two steps forward and sat on the garden wall next to Harry, "Sorry Potter," he said sincerely, "you're right. But what do you want me to say? It's alright to like shagging blokes? It might make you different but it's not wrong?" He shrugged, "Nothing I say will change anything." Then with a wry grin he said succinctly, "You're twenty three. You can shag who you like. Don't make it a big deal."

"That's quite good really," Harry said, thinking of Hermione's frown and her reaction of '_Are you sure?_'

"I should moonlight as an advice columnist." Draco said ironically.

Harry looked at him, He'd stretched his legs out in front of him, and they were crossed at the ankles and balanced on his left heel, rocking just slightly from side to side. Draco was watching his fingers as they drummed on his thigh, he was obviously thinking very hard about something, his eyebrows were contracted, and Harry could see a muscle twitching at the edge of his sharp jaw.

How could he sound so casual and look so tense? it was completely incongruent.

"Of course," Harry said, "it's all just a theory at this point." Draco's head turned and Harry quickly looked away, there was no way he could continue if there was going to be eye contact. He focused on his slightly frayed shoelace instead, "it's not like I've ever even kissed a bloke, for all I know I'll do it, and it'll be awful because it turns out that I'm only into the idea of men."

To say it aloud was terrifying, Harry's heart was pounding so quickly he could barely discern between beats. Sitting on a wall in a semi-residential street in Islington, in the middle of the night, seemed a strange place for confessions. But Draco's next sentence drove the oddity of their location out of his mind.

He spoke quietly and there was definitely a bit of amusement in his voice as he asked, "Is that a proposition Potter?"

Harry tried very hard to turn his head, to not be a complete chicken about it and actually look at Draco, but he failed, "Maybe." he said to his shoelace.

"Coward," Draco said, sounding even more amused than he had a moment before.

Harry snuck a glance out the corner of his eye and was surprised to see that Draco was much closer than last time he had looked, it gave him a fright and his head jerked up without conscious instruction.

The next thing Harry registered was Draco's cocky little grin softening, before firm fingers curled around the back of his neck and pulled him forward just enough that his own lips pressed against Draco's. They felt cool from the night air only momentarily, because Draco opened his mouth and warm breath and an even warmer tongue heated much more than Harry's lips.

His erratic pulse was almost painful, hot over-pumped blood was rushing through him, he was in some sort of wonderful shock. Harry noticed absently that his hand had found its way to rest on Draco's arm, he could feel the slightest contacting of the muscle as Draco's hand cupped the back of Harry's neck, his fingers stretching into his hair, and his thumb stroking against the roughness of Harry's cheek.

It was not so different from kisses he'd had before, Harry thought, but it seemed more consuming, more … important.

Then there was the rumble and the high-pitched screech of tyres, and their dark street was filled with light as small sleek a car zoomed by, the rhythmic pounding of its stereo echoing off the buildings on either side of the road.

Draco lurched back in surprise at the noise and sudden light, and if not for Harry's hand gripping his bicep already he would have gone head over heels, off the wall and into the garden behind them.

"Fucking hell," he hissed looking at Harry with wide eyes, then down the road to the shrinking taillights of the speeding car, the thudding of its stereo still hanging in the air.

Harry was concentrating on breathing and stopping himself from yanking Draco back towards him for another go, he belatedly released Draco's arm and said, "That was a surprise." his voice was weak, and the twitching at the corner of Draco's mouth told him it was understood that he didn't mean the car.

"You asked me to," Draco said, and even in the dim light Harry could see the colour in Draco's face. It made Harry want to smile, he had never seen Draco less than composed. This flustered version was even more appealing than the dripping wet one that had been so prominent in his head for the last two weeks.

Harry didn't know what to say, he certainly didn't want to go to the pub and sit awkwardly next to Draco at the bar, drinking a pint and making small talk. Draco seemed to have run out of things to say too, so the pair of them sat awkwardly on the garden wall instead. Maybe they _should_ go to the pub Harry thought, at least there he could get shitfaced. The quiet seemed to stretch on, Harry's arse started to go numb from prolonged contact with hard not-made-for-sitting-on wall.

But then suddenly Draco asked, sounding disappointingly collected once more, "So then Potter, fag or not?"

Harry snorted at the phrasing, but answered in kind, "Fag, though I don't think I'm allowed to be quite so derogatory considering I'm not opposed to sex with women."

Draco smiled at him, a proper unguarded smile that did strange things to Harry's insides. Then he laughed loudly and whacked Harry on the knee in a randomly blokey fashion, "Sex with women?" he shuddered, "You unnatural cretin."

* * *

**^V^**

* * *

_**A/N:**__ So, if this makes you grin like the silliest of fan girls hit that little review button down there – I need to know I'm not the only one. xx _


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N:** Eeep! 8 days, sorry! - although I did only promise "next week" so I haven't really broken my word... _

* * *

Kissing Harry Potter was not something Draco had ever expected would happen in his life. But six days ago, things that Draco expected seemed to flutter away. He was still, nearly a week later, quite surprised by his own daring. He'd half expected Harry to punch him.

After six days, the feeling of the kiss itself had been lost among the others Draco had experienced in the past, but he was left with a weird fizzing in his stomach every time he thought of it. And then in his mind's eye he would see the almost wounded look on Harry's face when Draco had said he had to go. _It was the right thing to do,_ Draco told himself for what literally must have been the thousandth time. It really didn't _seem_ like the right thing to do, however. The right thing to do felt much more like it would involve a flat surface and much less clothing. Perhaps they could test out that idea _after _the book was finished, Draco scolded himself, also for the thousandth time.

He had absolutely no idea what was going on between them now, and whether or not there would be a repeat of one of the better kisses of Draco's life. On Saturday just past, Harry had sent Draco a rather thick wad of notes detailing his fifth year at Hogwarts, and asking if they would be returning to the pre-poisoning schedule of Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. However, there had been no hint amorous affection in the letter, but then really, it wasn't like he'd expected Harry to dot his i's with little love hearts. So Draco had replied with a yes and hoped that in person he would understand where they stood.

Draco sat up in bed, lying around thinking about kissing Harry was not the most productive of starts to the day. He frowned down at his morning-wood, it seemed to have Potter written all over it. Why on earth did wanking to thoughts of Harry make him want to _smile_? Why on earth was he even thinking about who he would think about? _Circe_, some things were meant to happen in the heat of the moment, no self-respecting man planned out his wank fantasies.

Even as he thought the phrase Draco's rebellious mind presented him with a number of tantalising images of Harry. Some from real life, sweating in the sun in the garden, standing around in the entrance way the week before in his pyjamas, some from the few dreams he'd had after Harry had told him he'd spent his free time wanking. Something he'd only said because he had sententia in his system, Draco realised now.

The urge to touch himself receded slightly as the picture of the sick Harry holding himself up on the banister and glaring at Draco intruded into the pleasant ones. Thank goodness his healer had been able to help him so quickly. A healer who could have taken Draco's gold and not said a thing. It still bothered Draco that the goblins had purposely mistaken the name on his account. Maybe his father was right, at least vaults had numbers too. But it seemed to pointless to have a vault when he only had gold to store, it wasn't like the Prophet ever paid him in suits of armour.

Draco wondered why anyone except old families would hold vault accounts these days, they really were more annoying. To have to travel in the infernal little cart – which Draco was quite sure were never cleaned – to collect your money yourself? It was so time consuming. The fees were higher too. But having the failsafe of a number and a key meant the goblins couldn't dick you around.

Draco forced himself out of bed, he opened the curtains at the window. Through the gap between the larger houses behind his flat there was a reasonable view of the park. It was raining steadily, the still green alder and newly golden leaves on the towering oak trees were made vibrant by the wet air.

The manor had been taken in the Ministry collection, after it had served its purpose as prison during Draco's house arrest. But as it was both crime scene and valuable property, Draco hadn't expected to retain it one he was free.

Even three years after moving in here Draco was still very grateful he'd married Astoria – and her dowry. With it, they were able to live in a little row of houses one street back from the park in Holland Park. Astoria had the downstairs flat and he had upstairs. They shared a letter box and that was all, excluding dinner and a bottle of wine on Monday evenings when they would update each other on their lives.

Thankfully Astoria was gifted enough at transfiguration that should her mother show up unannounced, she could magic men's clothes in the wardrobe and shaving foam into the bathroom. It was truly the best arrangement Draco could have ever have imagined when his father had spoken of "_doing his duty_" all those years ago. They did have the small problem of providing a grandchild for their parents to deal with, but they hadn't spoken of that in months. Astoria was unwilling to go through the trauma just yet. She was only twenty one, Draco didn't blame her in the slightest.

Trying very hard to keep his mind off Harry, and the impending horror of fatherhood at some point in the future, Draco found his thoughts drifting back to bank vaults as he went about his morning routine. He wondered how the Ministry deposited anything in vaults at all, like the one Iris the-paperwork-lover from Gringotts Vault Registry had told Marc was back in use. Did some poor lackey have to travel there in a cart with the key to do it? That seemed unlikely, and vaults cost more, surely it made more financial sense for the Ministry to operate in archive accounts where possible. As Marc had pointed out, the Ministry paid a huge amount in bank fees already.

Draco though of the abbreviation on the budget statement Marc had pinched, _how did that work then?_ He wondered, if it was called two different things, did that mean the gold was going two different places? Draco's payment from Harry had gone to a whole other person, because of the similarity in spelling and nasty grudge-holding goblins. If an account was listed differently… he wondered if he had just figured out where Marc and Iris's mystery vault came in.

* * *

Marc was working studiously at his desk by the time Draco made it in to work, only just on time, his wandering mind had held him up in the shower, despite his efforts otherwise.

He leaned over Marc's shoulder to see what he was working on and asked, "Do you still have that copy of the budget breakdown?" He was promptly hit quite hard in the face by the back of Marc's hand as he jumped in arm-flinging surprise and spun in his chair almost guiltily to see who had caused the unexpected intrusion into his concentration.

"Ow," Draco said rubbing his cheek, but he supposed he should have announced himself.

"Sorry Draco," Marc said, still looking a little out of sorts, "but _god,_ don't do that."

It wasn't often Marc concentrated so thoroughly, "What are you up to?" Draco asked a little suspiciously.

"I was just looking through these expense accounts," Marc said, he seemed rather puzzled, "I don't know who the forgetful fairy is round here, but the last six months' worth were sitting on my desk when I came in this morning."

"The Prophet's accounts?" Draco asked, merlin, they needed better interns. What if they left actual valuable information lying around where anyone could see it?

"Yeah," Marc said, flicking the page he was on with his forefinger, "What do you reckon Cuffe keeps buying at Purvis's Potioneers?

Draco lip curled distastefully at the mention of Cuffe and potions, not that Cuffe would be stupid enough to use Prophet gold to buy Sententia. "Probably _Everlasting Elixir_," Draco said, trying to distract himself from the big black cloud of career ruining doom hanging over all of them. Marc looked confused and Draco added, "I swear he's shagging Betty."

Marc's nose wrinkled at the thought and then he snickered, "Pity it doesn't have itemised purchases, then we'd know."

"Hmm," Draco said, trying very hard not to let an image of Cuffe and Betty going at it invade his mind.

"What did you want the Treasury budget for anyway?" Marc asked, and he began to forage in his filing cabinet, "I have a copy, not the original," he extracted the canvas bound parchment spreadsheets and held them out to Draco.

"I had an idea about your budget obsession, there was a mix up with my pay from my other job," Draco said, as he took the ledger.

Marc's eyes lit up at the mention of his two favourite mysteries, "you'll have to tell all, about_ both_." he said.

"That's all I'm saying about my work at the moment." Draco said sternly.

"Fine," Marc said mutinously. Then, with a somewhat devilish grin he raised his voice and said, "Your afternoon shag pays you, I get it. Although I would have thought side-lining as a rent boy was beneath you, but –"

"Will you _not_!" Draco cut him off with a whack to the shoulder with the canvas book, and looking over the cubicle divide to see if anyone heard. That was the last rumour he needed following him around.

Marc clutched his shoulder and glowered, "Ouch, _fine,_ what does the Treasury's budget statement have to do with your pay?"

Draco turned the thick pages as he answered, "It got me thinking about your bloody conspiracy theory. Archive accounts rely on the name they are registered to, so why on the treasury statement does the Account Maintenance fee get spelled differently half the time, and yet they are tallied together in the total, ha, look –" Draco had found one of the Accnt Maintenance payments, and there, right against the far right side of the column were the digits 437.

"Four three seven," Marc said slowly, "that's … that's the vault, you know, the one Iris said is suddenly being used again!"

"I knew it." Draco said, triumphantly, "They really might diverting funds just like you thought." This was a huge deal, _if_ he and Marc could prove it, that was.

"But…" Marc's eyes were wide and his mouth gaping slightly, "holy hell Draco," he whispered. He slammed the ledger shut as though it was something obscene, "I was right," he said quietly. "What do I do now?"

Draco was thinking quickly, Marc was right to be cautious. This was the sort of thing that made or ruined careers, if it wasn't just an error, and there were high up's from the Ministry involved, he and Draco could both be in danger from sudden public discrediting.

"First you need to find out how it's getting past the goblins, they would notice something like this," Draco said quietly, it seemed unlikely that there wasn't an inside man, "then talk to that secretary of Blishwick's and see who's involved in signing this off."

"_That secretary_," Marc said, distracted for a moment, "happens to be called Mavis, and she's lovely."

Draco had a vague recollection of Marc mentioning a date with the head of the Treasury Office's secretary. "Are you still seeing her?" he asked, "That had to be at least –"

"Three weeks," Marc finished proudly, "seven dates, no shagging."

"Right," Draco said disparagingly, "I know you're annoyed that I won't tell you about my other job, but you don't need to start telling lies."

"It's not," Marc said, with a shrug, "But anyway she'll be glad to tell me who signs the figures off, Blishwick's a real creep to her."

Just as Draco opened his mouth to ask whether Marc would have time to gather the information today, there was a sudden ominous click-clacking of heels on the wooden floor, and Betty Braithwaite appeared at the edge of Marc's cubicle.

"Working hard I hope boys?" she looked as immaculately almost-slutty as ever, even Draco found his eyes drawn to her cleavage, something that deeply disturbed him. Betty's sharp gaze drifted over Marc's expense report covered desk, and then on the ledger Draco was still holding.

"Always," Marc spoke up smoothly, diverting her attention. Draco was quite horrified to see Marc turn his charming talents on Betty, he leaned in a little closer and inhaled then said, "You smell divine Betty what is that?"

Draco had already taken a step backwards, preparing to vacate a quickly as possible when Betty said, "Something you could never afford Marcus," but she looked a little pleased.

Draco had to turn away to hide his shocked expression, he had not expected Betty to fall for such feigned flattery. Then Marc pouted rather prettily and said, "Pity, I'll just have to admire it on you then."

_The man was incorrigible_, Draco thought as he took the ledger out of Betty's sight.

He would return to the topic with Marc when she had gone again. Until then, Draco had an article to proofread, detailing a _riveting_ report from St Mungos. Apparently carnivorous carbuncles were wreaking havoc amongst the aging wizarding population. _Joy_.

* * *

_Your career is based here,_ Draco muttered to himself as he splashed along the footpath at lunchtime, dodging the muggles with their heads down, pushing on through the heavy rain. All the while trying not to stab any of them in the eye with his umbrella. _Your written French is terrible and their tea is even worse,_ he continued, reminding himself that life in England was easier – although wetter – than France. He doubted himself once more as a sudden gust of wind barrelled around the corner, turning the previously pelting rain into nasty driving sideways rain.

He ducked into a doorway to close his umbrella, _pointless thing_ Draco thought, whenever it was wet enough to need it, it was always too windy for it to be very efficient. But the muggles would stare if Draco just walked along impervious'd - his coat staying dry despite the downpour. He drew the line at his shoes however, muggle made they might be, but they still took a water repelling charm very well. He refused to walk into the Ministry of Magic with squeaking, dripping leather shoes.

He steeled himself before stepping out into the rain once more. He made the final dash around the corner and down the short alley to the phone box with his umbrella tucked under his arm, and his hand clutching his satchel to keep its shoulder strap from strangling him as he ran.

He slammed the door shut behind himself and in the tiny dry space the rain seemed much louder. The street outside was completely blurred by the sheet of water running down the square panes of glass in the sides of the booth. The pale sandstone of the surrounding buildings looked oddly warm through the haze.

Draco picked up the mouth piece on the broken down, old fashioned apparatus and dialled the digits for decent. Immediately the female voice filled the air.

_"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."_

"Draco Malfoy, I have a meeting with Ron Weasley."

_"Thank you, visitor, please attach the badge to the front of your robes."_

There was a rattling and a small badge shot out of the change chute. It read, _Draco Malfoy, Visitor to Auror Office. _

He pinned it to his lapel as a klaxon-like grinding sounded beneath him, and the floor of the phone box began to move. As he sunk into the footpath Draco ran his fingers through his damp hair and then pulled out his wand to dry his trouser cuffs. By the time the door opened he was standing straight and presentable once more. He often wondered how the muggles of London managed to arrive anywhere looking half decent, the odds were certainly against them.

Draco crossed the wooden atrium floor, grateful for his not-squeaky shoes, because at five minutes to twelve the place was not very busy and the cavernous room echoed something terrible. Once he had passed through security Draco began his journey through the many floors and corridors to the Auror headquarters. Luckily he'd been this way before, last time he'd met Weasley to talk about the book Ron had collected him in the atrium. Draco thought he would have definitely got lost if he'd had to try and find his way in unescorted the first time. He might have been able to find the right floor, but the floors themselves seemed to sprawl in a warren of twisting hallways that didn't make any logical sense.

He reached the door labelled _Auror Headquarters_ relatively quickly. The open area on the other side was strangely reminiscent of the Prophet offices - a sea of organised right-angled partition walls making cubicles to house the chaos of tacked photos, personal belongings and other wall-mountable things, like graphs or maps, and oddly, in the one nearest Draco, a cross cut diagram of a Hebridean Black.

Draco took the same path between cubicles to cross the room as he and Ron had last time, he could see the wall of four doors that were the team leader's offices on the far side. Ron Weasley had the best one other than Head Auror Gawain Robards, but that was only because he'd taken it from Harry who had obviously been given the best one because he was _Harry_.

Draco did not look left or right as he walked quickly through the maze of cubicles and their Aurors. He was a free man, and one with a decent reputation, but all the Aurors that surrounded him had fought on Potter's side, and most of them remembered who he had been before. He didn't welcome being reminded of that person. Draco was startled by a set of heavy booted footsteps behind him and he resisted the urge to go for his wand, he really did feel quite uncomfortable here.

"Malfoy," said an oddly thick and squelchy voice, Draco turned to see Ron Weasley, a very large stack of manila folded files under one arm and a sandwich that was trying to burst from its paper wrappings in his other hand. It was the latter that caused the squelchy sound in his speech, swallowing he said, "Glad I made it back down here in time, I didn't know I had a meeting this morning when we set this up."

"Do you still have time?" Draco asked, somewhat distracted by a precariously dangling slice of tomato hanging out of Ron's sandwich.

Ron was unable to take time out of his work day to talk about the book so they were meeting during his lunch break. Draco had been a little surprised he would be so accommodating. He found the friendship between Ron and Harry perplexing. Ron was mad at Harry for calling his sister names, but he was still willing to go out of his way to meet with Draco to help Harry. Maybe they were speaking again Draco thought, it had, after all, been a week since he'd left Harry sitting on the wall around the corner from his house. That might be long enough for longstanding friendship to overcome Weasley family pride.

"Course," said Ron easily, "long as you don't mind me eating."

Draco looked at the messy sandwich and thought that actually he _did_ mind a little bit, but was unwilling deal with the hassle of getting in here again just to avoid watching Ron Weasley eat. He could always look away, he reasoned.

"No problem," Draco said, managing a brief, but hopefully realistic smile.

Ron lead the rest of the way to his office, it was not the personalised space that cubicles always seemed to become when you worked in one for a decent period of time. Weasley's office was full of standard Ministry furniture. There was one framed photo on the desk of himself and Hermione standing next to Harry who was holding their daughter, they were all very dressed up, the ginger child as well, wearing an overly long white lace dress that looked highly impractical for a creature as messy as a baby. Ron made himself comfortable behind his desk and Draco sat and pulled out his notebook and quill.

"So it's fifth year?" Ron asked, as he put down his sandwich and unwrapped the paper.

"Yes," Draco said, "I thought it would be easy, because I remember most of the important stuff, so it would be just collecting differing points of view, but there is so much I had no idea about, Dementors chasing him and his cousin? I was sure that was just the Ministry trumping up charges to discredit him, but they actually sent them?"

Ron nodded, his eyes focused on his lunch, he reassembled the filling that had been escaping and re-wrapped it before he answered, "Yeah, but I didn't see them. Who are you going to get to confirm that for you?"

"Dudley Dursley hopefully," Draco said, "I wrote to him ages ago."

Ron's ginger eyebrows went up and he said doubtfully, "Good luck, I met him once, given we were only fourteen but –"

Draco nodded, "Yes, when your father blew up their living room." Draco had laughed out loud when he'd read Harry's account of that, "I never thought I'd be admiring of Arthur Weasley, but after the shit those muggles put Harry through they deserved even more than being terrorised by exploding fireplaces and your mad brothers."

Ron blinked and Draco realised he had just complemented the Weasley family. "So, Dementors," he said quickly, returning to his list of events that needed confirmation, scanning down it for things Ron could help with, "and then there were more of his weird seer dreams, honestly, I have no idea how I'm going to cover _that_ without him looking like a loon." He muttered half to himself.

"Seer dreams?" Ron asked, "Well, it's not like he was seeing the _future,_ he could just see into Riddle's head sometimes because of the horcrux thing." Ron grimaced, "I get your point though, it's not the easiest thing to explain."

"Horcrux thing?" Draco repeated, _horcrux thing? "_As in soul splitting?" he asked sharply, horcruxes were one of the more repulsive topics Draco had learned about while trapped in the manor with nothing to do but read his way through the library for the two years following Riddle's death. He began to flip the pages of his notebook a little feverishly, Harry had never mentioned a horcrux being made, Harry couldn't have made one, Draco thought. _He did survive the killing curse…_ said a little voice in the back of his mind, "He _wouldn't …_"

"Er, Malfoy," said Ron hastily, "I didn't realise he hadn't told you already, it was Riddle not Harry."

"Oh, oh of course it was." Draco said, unable to explain to himself why he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion or why his palms felt clammy and his mouth dry. Why should it matter if it _had_ been Harry? It would have helped him survive, surely anything would be acceptable if it meant he could save the bloody world. But Harry with a split soul just seemed so abhorrently wrong to Draco.

"Yeah," said Ron, and he looked quite concerned, "I may have just put my foot in it. Harry mentioned a while ago that he wasn't sure if he wanted to put the horcrux stuff in the book, he's worried it will give people ideas, I thought he would have told you by know though, I mean that's where we were when we didn't come back to school, we were hunting them down.

"Right, no he's been giving me the information year by year, so I only know the details of fifth year and below." Draco said.

"I just thought you'd … you know, be talking about stuff," for some reason Ron appeared supremely uncomfortable, he gestured vaguely with his sandwich and said haltingly, "with whatever is going between you two."

Draco blanched, what had Harry been saying? "Harry told you about that?" he asked, feeling as ill at ease as Weasley looked. He hadn't even had this conversation with Harry yet, he really wasn't prepared to have it with Ron sodding Weasley.

"I guessed," Ron said, looking at his lunch instead of Draco. "that morning when you two were arguing, Harry asked if he'd stop thinking about you … Hermione's got it in her head that Harry was cheating on Ginny with you – she somehow seems to think that he couldn't possibly know he er … fancied blokes, if he didn't already, um, fancy a bloke." He finished apologetically

"Weasley," Draco said, he felt strangely like he was about to throw up and burst out laughing at the same time. _Cheating? What on earth?_ "I really think you should talk to Harry about this, it's certainly not that sordid."

"I would," said Ron, "except I'm not really in the mood for arguing with him, now that Ginny's back in Italy I don't have to pretend to be pissed off on her account," he shrugged, "I don't want to make a big deal out of it."

"So why bring it up?" Draco asked, a little contemptuously, "Are you in the mood for arguing with me?"

Ron sighed heavily and after a moment he said calmly, "No," and Draco recognised the tone of a man trying very hard to keep his patience. "I'm meeting you on my lunch break. The lunch break I need to work through to get all my paperwork done, so that I can go home to my squealing teething daughter and tired wife." He sounded rather tired himself, Draco thought, "I don't want to argue with anyone."

Then suddenly he put down his sandwich in a menacing full stop. All weariness was gone as he fixed Draco with a baleful glare, "_But,_ I would like to know that my best mate hasn't done anything stupid, and that if there _is_ something going on with someone, then I would like to know that that someone isn't going to treat him the way a certain stuck up, pointy little ferret would have."

"Okay," Draco said trying to resist the urge to shrink down in his seat, merlin the man knew how to intimidate these days, Auror training was obviously good for something. "There really isn't anything going on," he said, "I didn't even know he was interested in men until last week. And for that matter he thought I was straight too."

"Really?" Ron said in disbelief, all seriousness gone as he started on his lunch again. "And Hermione tells me I don't pay attention." Draco wasn't sure if he should be offended by that comment or not so he kept quiet. "But now you both know?"

"Yes," said Draco, "and I kissed him, and he seemed to like it –"

"Enough, enough," Ron said, the tips of his ears were red, "I just wanted to know if he'd been messing around on Ginny, I don't need anything else."

"Right," said Draco "because she, the queen of almost Pottercide, deserves his faithfulness. Aren't you even a bit horrified that your darling little sister could have killed you best mate?"

"Of course I am." Ron said, as he forced a rebellious bit of cucumber back between the bread, "I haven't spoken to her since, stupid little bint." He said unsympathetically, "but you have to stand by your family, something I would think you of all people would understand."

Draco glowered, "Point taken." he said.

"Sorry," said Ron, he was thoughtful for a moment and then let out a little snorting laugh, "it's weird right," he said, looking at Draco with a confused expression, "how much I don't want to punch you anymore?"

"To be honest Weasley, I've never really seen eye to eye with you on that." Draco said, "Perhaps now that you deal with proper arseholes all day, boring old Malfoy doesn't really rank."

"That sounds about right," Ron said, "also when you have a six month old the only things that matter are sleep and enjoying every bit of quiet offered to you." He glanced at the framed picture on his desk, and sighed, "Getting angry requires so much _effort_," he smiled at the photo, "maybe I'm just getting lazier."

"Either way, it works for me," Draco said, there was something about this grown up Ron Weasley that was much less annoying than the one he remembered from school. And the feeling of relief that had washed over Draco at Ron's non-confrontational words on the staircase, at Harry's house the morning the sententia was discovered, was something that would stick with Draco for quite a while. "I'd probably be in a bit of trouble if you hadn't been the Auror at Grimmauld place that morning, them out there seem to have long memories" Draco said with a twitch of his head towards the door and the Aurors beyond.

"Not if they followed the rules," Ron said, but he didn't sound confident, "Aurors can't go arresting people on suspicion of possible association with the type potion used to poison someone – we'd have to constantly arrest every potioneer in town if that was the case."

"Well, I'm grateful I wasn't brought in for questioning," Draco admitted, "I'm not too popular at the Prophet, if anyone got wind of it they'd make sure everyone knew."

"I thought of that," Ron said, a little proudly, "then they'd wonder why you were arrested at Harry Potter's house and everything would turn to shit."

Draco winced at the idea, he could imagine the headlines already. He returned to his list, unwilling to think about the damage to his hire-ability if he was ever even _suspected_ of sententia use.

"Okay, Dementors that's Dursley, I wanted from you and Granger if she'll consent to meet me," he looked back at Ron, "I haven't heard anything since she apologised for firing me,"

Ron waved a hand dismissively, "She'll be right once she knows you aren't the, um, other woman."

Draco scowled, "That's quite offensive you realise." He said coldly.

Ron looked uncomfortable once again, "I'm not a hundred percent on how to deal with this," he said with a half shrug.

_Bloody Gryffindors and their feelings_ Draco thought, annoyed. "You don't have to _deal_ with anything you moron." He said impatiently, "Your best friend likes kissing boys, so what? He likes girls too, surely both those things are better than the thought of him screwing your baby sister."

Ron's freckly face scrunched up in disgust, "Urgh, thank you, yes," he shuddered, "anyway, what do you need from us?" he asked, determinedly returning to subject.

Draco smirked, glad to be back on topic, "The events of that summer, Harry being left alone with the muggles, Dumbledore telling you not to talk to him, then the formation of the DA, I wrote to Longbottom about that, in Granger's notes she suggests I talk to Zacharias Smith, is there any particular reason for that?"

"Probably because he's a little prick," Ron said, "was always negative, but attended every meeting, maybe she thought you'd get a differing point of view from him than from one of Harry's friends."

Draco nodded, resigned. He was not on the best terms with Zacharias Smith. This was due to a rather painful, clichéd and un-romantic encounter on Draco's first weekend after he was freed from house arrest. Draco could admit now that Smith wasn't to blame for the faulty lock on the door of the loo in the Broomstick and Keeper. And it also wasn't his fault that at the precise moment Smith had been fumbling with Draco's flies a burly and quite intoxicated fellow had barged in to use the loo. The door flying open had knocked an already wobbly from drink Draco, staggering against an equally boozy Smith. In the sudden lurching movement, Smith's hand got trapped in the confined space and put quite a lot of very uncomfortable pressure on Draco's groin. Draco did recognise that none of it was Smith's _fault_, but at the same time, it was hard to be polite to someone who had quite literally punched you in the balls.

Trying very hard not to cross his legs at the remembered pain Draco continued, "Other than the DA, what you remember from when Harry had his Riddle dreams in your presence would be useful, I've already got Granger's account of that afternoon when we caught you lot in Umbridge's office, and her and Harry going into the forest. So if you could –"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. A harassed looking, curly-haired youth poked his head in without waiting for Ron to answer, he waved a crumpled violet piece of paper and said, "Auror Weasley, Robards just messaged, Hughes from the D.M.L.E. is doing a surprise audit,"

Draco watched Ron's face drain of colour, his voice almost croaky as he said, "_Fuck,_ thanks Michaels." He got to his feet as he continued more firmly, "Go and get the other level ones and set up a combat practice in the training hall, we'll get Robards to take Hughes through there so the rest of us can make sure we're ready." Michaels nodded and withdrew.

"Malfoy, you'll have to go." Ron went on, "Williamson is away so me and Bishop are acting heads of training and theory," he hauled his robe over his head as he spoke, then pulled open his cupboard door and took out a freshly pressed set. Draco sat, stunned by the sudden flurry of activity for a moment as Ron began to change.

It wasn't until Ron said, "Merlin Malfoy, I appreciate the complement as much as the next guy but could you get out of here?" his voice was muffled as he wriggled into his uniform pullover, "Somebody always gets torn to shreds in front of everyone else during an audit, and entertaining ex-Death Eaters is probably a good way to get the finger pointed at me."

"Right you are Weasley," Draco said, he gathered up his things and hurried from the office, he made his way down the gap between the cubicles quickly. There were workers running in every direction, folders and scrolls being heaved about and skim read, the staffers were tucking in their shirts and straitening ties. Draco felt almost transported back to the Slytherin common room when they were given a heads up that Professor Snape was on his way down, Hughes must be a right nasty bastard.

His journey out of the Ministry was an easy one, everybody seemed to be on their lunch break, the corridors were quite empty. Back at street level, he felt a sudden jolt of fizzy apprehension, the still rain-blurry windowed walls of the phone box seemed to shrink in closer just briefly as Draco remembered his next appointment – Tuesday afternoon, Grimmauld Place.

* * *

**^V^**

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Do we call that a cliff-hanger? Not really, the next one won't be too far away. _

_(Reviews make chapters appear more quickly…. It's like magic.)_


	10. Chapter 10, Part 1

_**A/N:**__ Welcome to what I'm calling __**Chapter 10, Part 1**__. _

_Originally this and the following chapter were one, but in the actual writing it grew so long, and was taking me forever to finish. So I decided in the spirit of the holiday season you could have this part now. xx_

* * *

By the time Draco popped into existence in the narrow alleyway between numbers Nine and Ten Grimmauld Place he was feeling quite out of sorts. But not because of the impending meeting with Harry. Instead it was the previous one causing his distress. The last time he'd visited Auror Headquarters his head had been so full of the discovery of sententia use on unsuspecting sources that there hadn't been room for anything else. This time, while he was nervous about this meeting with Harry, it was not enough to rid him of the uncomfortable reminders of his experiences with the department after his arrest five years ago.

Draco could only assume that the Aurors, so used to dealing with hardened psychotic Death Eaters, had seen him, at barely eighteen and quite broken already, as an easy target for their pent-up hatred. It wasn't something he liked to think about at the best of times; even now, five entire years later, half an hour in the place had him right back there, full of hopeless, consuming regret.

A sudden increase in the rain drew Draco back to the present, his current location – in a litter strewn alley, and standing two feet from a lichen covered, leaking downpipe, whose foul-smelling, ricocheting back-spray was coming precariously close to Draco's person – was hardly likely to help lift his mood.

Draco opened his umbrella and left the alley, trying very hard not to dwell on the past as he dodged the puddles on the way to Number Twelve. He was very good at suppressing anything personal while he was working usually. But he couldn't quite let it go this time, it was almost disorientating to be so affected. Especially since during his visit the distraction and – loath as he was to admit it – _protection_ of Weasley's presence had kept the usual creeping memories at bay. Thankfully he had little reason to enter the Auror headquarters in the normal course of his work for the Prophet, the Aurors tended to release statements rather than give interviews. But perhaps if he visited more often he would build up a resistance to the onslaught of nasty recollections… He really didn't want to test the theory either way.

Number Twelve looked the same as ever as Draco made his way up the front path. It was tall and imposing, the bricks becoming steadily more soot stained with each rising metre. Even though it was highly likely to be the only house in the block that still used it's fireplaces for heating and cooking. However, like many of the less affluent areas of London, and for that matter, Great Britain, the accumulated soot from the last century had yet to be washed off. Not that the rain wasn't trying.

Draco knocked on the black door. He found a rather bleak silver-lining in that although the Auror Department had left him feeling uncomfortably unsettled, it didn't leave much room in his head for unprofessional fantasising, which was probably a good thing. He thought it would be in rather poor taste to be daydreaming about the possibility of a second kiss while Harry answered questions about his dead godfather, and his world falling apart.

Over the last week Draco had made the decision to focus on the work that needed to be completed, and when they were done, then he could possibly pursue the annoying little attraction that he was finding it so hard to ignore. At least discussing how horrible they had been to each other during fifth year was likely to make sure Draco couldn't jump on him. Not that he would of course.

The door opened almost immediately and Kreacher greeted him with a grey toothed smile. "Mr Malfoy, Master Harry will be glad you are here, he is in the garden again."

There was a touch of aspersion in Kreachers voice, and for once, rather than feeling like the house-elf was coddling Harry, Draco thought he understood. It was absolutely tipping, why the hell was Harry gardening? Maybe it wasn't just the sententia that made him crazy after all.

Draco shook out his umbrella and closed it before he followed the little elf across the entry-way and down the staircase to the basement kitchen. He was accosted by the distinctive scent of house-elf cooking before Kreacher even opened the door.

Elf cooking was definitely something Draco missed in his current self-sufficient life. One of the elves from Greengrass Moor came to his and Astoria's flats once a week and did general house-elf duties, but they never cooked. Draco ate mainly take-away and various culinary experiments on toast.

Kreacher was not making toast, a large steaming pot stood on the cooker, the contents filling the air with a wonderful savoury aroma. There was a child-sized carved wooden step sitting in front of the cooker, and an array of highly polished saucepans hanging above it.

Kreacher crossed the room quickly and clambered up the flight of steeper steps that led back outside into the garden. He opened the door and the sound of rain grew much louder than the quiet background patter it had been. Kreacher gestured out the door and said, "Master Harry is out there." before he retreated back down the stairs, Draco thought he heard the elf mutter something about "_catching his death"_ as he hurried away.

Through haze of pelting rain, on the other side of the small paved area and even smaller lawn, Harry was digging furiously in the garden. Unfortunately for Draco's inner pervert the rain meant that Harry was not working in his under-things today. He had the hood pulled up on his muggle raincoat and his jeans were wet to the knee despite his wellingtons. There was a crate of brightly flowering seedlings on the grass next to him, their multi coloured petals dancing happily in the heavy rain.

"You mad bastard!" Draco called from the cover of the top step to announce himself. Harry turned at the shout, bits of hair that had escaped from his hood were pasted to his forehead and cheeks, Draco gestured with his closed umbrella at the dark sky, "It's raining!"

"Really?" Harry called back, and even though the reply was faint from distance, the sarcasm was still very obvious. "I won't be a minute!" he added, as he thrust his spade into the lawn so it stood upright un-assisted and dropped to his knees next to the freshly turned earth. He quickly transferred the bright little flowers from the crate to the garden, and patted the dark soil around each one, his gloves were thick with gluggy mud by the time he was done. Then he stood again and wiped the unpleasant sludge off on the front of his jeans, before he pulled the gloves off and shoved them into his pocket. Then he shouldered his spade, hooked the crate from the ground with his free hand and jogged across the soggy patch of lawn towards Draco.

"Sorry," Harry said as he pushed back his hood and shook his hair, it was half soaking and half completely dry, and a little static from the hood fabric. He looked like a half-squished dandelion. "The spiderwort bulbs have to be planted in the rain," he said, by way of an excuse.

Draco raised an eyebrow, wondering if Neville Longbottom was just having another long-distance botanical laugh.

Harry must have sensed his doubt because as he came up the steps he said, "They really do, I looked it up, it's not Neville playing jokes." He paused in front of Draco smelling like wet dirt something sharper that was much more appealing. "Are you hungry?" he asked, somehow managing to look into Draco's face but not quite meet his eyes.

Draco wondered if the pink spots on Harry's cheeks were caused by weather exposure or the same thing that was edging back into his own mind, despite the gloomy shadow left by the Auror department, and his internal assurances that he was only at Grimmauld place to work.

"I am actually." Draco said, his lunchtime meeting with Ron had left him no time for food, and there was no way he would pass up an offer of a house-elf cooked meal.

Harry grinned, "Come on then, I haven't eaten yet either, Kreacher said he was making soup." He led the way inside, yanking his parka over his head as he went. "I'll just go and change." he said, wrinkling his nose as he looked down at his mud caked jeans.

Only moments after Harry had vanished up the staircase to the entry-way, Kreacher appeared with a crack at Draco's side. He was carrying a tray laden with the same silver tea service Draco had seen on previous visits to the house. It was old, with curling handles and detailed engraved patterns in a band around the bulb of the pot, milk jug and sugar bowl, as well as a sliver painted version on the lips of the china cups that sat beside it. Draco wondered if Harry realised his every-day tea set was nearly three hundred years old.

"Mr Malfoy, would you like some tea?" the elf asked, as he set the tray on the kitchen table.

"I would," Draco said, he pulled the nearest chair out and sat down. Almost immediately he was presented with a cup of what looked to be perfectly made tea.

Draco had issues with too much milk in his tea, there was a very fine line between just enough to take the tanniny flavour away, but too much and it just turned into warm, bizarre flavoured milk. But like any good house-elf Kreacher had obviously paid attention to Draco's preferences the few times he had drunk tea there.

"Perfect." he said to the elf. Kreachers bloodshot eyes looked bright for a moment and he bowed. Then, with what could only be described as a skip, he hurried to the cooker and climbed onto his little step to tend to the soup.

Draco was still frowning with consternation at the elf's odd behaviour when Harry re-entered the room in clean but worn looking trousers and a hooded sweater with frayed cuffs and a hole in the corner of the pocket on the front.

Draco's frown deepened, and he asked, "How is it, that you are wealthy enough to stop working at the drop of a hat, but you don't seem to own a single item of clothing that isn't of street-urchin-only quality?

Harry shrugged as he crossed the room to lift the lid on Kreachers soup and take a sniff, "I dunno," he said, as Kreacher shooed him away with a threateningly lifted ladle. "I hate the way new stuff feels, comes from growing up in hand-me-downs I suppose. But unfortunately by the time something is the right amount of worn-in, they are pretty much worn-_out_."

"I guess since you never go out, it doesn't really matter." Draco said, trying not to think of the muggles and their poor effort at raising Harry. Draco had never worn a second hand garment in his life. Although he did have his father's school tie. But ties weren't the sort of thing that changed with wear, so he guessed that didn't really count.

"True," Harry said, joining Draco at the table. He was watching Kreacher who was putting his ladle to its intended purpose, and filling two bowls with the aromatic soup. Harry leaned closer to Draco and said in an undertone, "He's very pleased you know," he flicked his head in Kreachers direction, "he tries to hide it, but to have a blood relation of his former mistress spending time here makes him very happy."

"Is that what it is?" Draco asked, somewhat relieved to understand the cheerful treatment from an elf that didn't belong to him. "He's always smiling at me, I thought he was just another part of Potter's crazy world - decrepit grinning elves."

Harry smiled, and helped himself to tea, "Potter's crazy world?" he repeated.

Draco shrugged, "I'm assuming it was to do with the sententia, but you were a bit weird the first few times we met. I started thinking that you lived in your own mad little world."

"I sort of did," Harry said, stirring a heaped sugar into what had been a very serviceable cup of tea. "I feel like I needed it though," he propped both elbows on the table and cradled his tea in his hands, "I've been '_of public interest' _for the last twelve years, three months off, all to myself, was kind of amazing."

Draco noticed the tense immediately, "Was?" he asked, "Are you planning on going back to work? Or just doing your own grocery shopping again?"

"Not sure yet, but I'm sick of the inside of this house," Harry said, he was so much more definite than Draco had experienced, there were no vacant pauses or confused hesitation as he said firmly, "I need to do _something_."

Draco thought this seemed like a bad idea, he liked that Harry was always here … safe, alone … before Draco could develop that disturbing idea any further, Harry asked, "So how was Ron? That was today right? Is he cross still?"

"No, not at all," Draco said, finding himself, once again, completely at sea when it came to the logistics of the famous Potter/Weasley friendship, "not at you, or me."

"Why would he be mad at _you_?" Harry asked.

"You can ask him that." Draco said bluntly. "I'm not getting in the middle of you two, it's far too difficult to follow."

"Okay," Harry said, looking a little wary, "But did he tell you what you needed to know?"

Draco shook his head, "We didn't really get round to it actually, we were interrupted by an audit."

Harry's cup stopped hallway to his mouth and his face paled exactly the way Ron's had. "From the DMLE? Hell, I hope you got out of there quick, Hughes is an intolerant arse."

"I got that," Draco said, remembering the scurrying, panicked workers. "The place went crazy."

"Yup, I don't know how much you know about the politics after the first war?" Harry asked.

Draco looked at him carefully but didn't speak, there were too many landmines in that conversation.

Harry seemed to sense Draco's unease, because he explained quickly, "Directly after Riddle, you know…" He waved an imaginary wand at his own forehead, "The Death Eater round-up was led by Bartemius Crouch."

"I'm aware." Draco said, slowly.

"Well, Hughes is cut from the same maniacal cloth," Harry said, "he hates any reminders of the war, or people associated with it. He's been in charge since the end of last year, I think he lost family in the war."

Draco was only half listening, at the mention of Bartemius Crouch, Draco was immediately reminded of is son Barty Crouch Jr. one of the men responsible for ruining Draco's life, by bringing about Voldemort's re-birth.

Draco still remembered the stoic expression on his own fathers face when he arrived home that summer after fourth year. His mother had picked him up from Kings Cross, and removed the blanket of hexes he, Vince and Greg had spent their train ride from Hogwarts under. She had been pale faced and silent all the way to the apparition point. Once they appeared in Wiltshire, in front of the gates to the manor, she continued to hold Draco but the arm, as though she couldn't bear to let him go. Draco had been panicking by this time. Dumbledore's words of unity and understanding at the feast the night before had still been echoing in his head. Knowing that if Voldemort was back then his family was screwed, his father had paid off too many people to keep himself free, Voldemort would be out to get him.

In hindsight Draco knew they would have been better off if Riddle had held more grudges.

But after a week of internalised panic that his father had been killed or tortured – because his parents hadn't wanted to risk writing a letter to him at school – to see his father waiting in the entrance hall of their home, whole and calm had been a massive relief. Oddly though, when his father had given him a brief, one armed hug, Draco's tenuous relief had broken. Lucius Malfoy only hugged when someone was dead. That time it was for the death of life as they knew it.

"Er, Malfoy?" Harry's tentative voice broke through the wash of memory, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," said Draco, with a quick nod. His soup had been delivered during his pre occupation, he picked up his spoon mechanically and began to eat. "Sorry. Hughes is a prick, got it." He blinked, still not entirely present, he was thinking of what Harry had written about that same summer, he had been alone and hopeless. Just as Draco had been.

Draco disliked the constant reminders of the similarities between them, it made him think ridiculous things. What if they had actually talked to each other, properly, without the anger? Would they have realised that they didn't need to hate each other because really they both felt the same? Trapped, overlooked and scared of what was coming…

"Draco?" Harry sounded a little concerned, "are you sure you want to do this now?"

Draco focused on Harry, and then on his full soupspoon that was halted in mid-air, as he noticed properly for the first time that he was eating, "Sorry," he said, again. He rested his spoon back in his bowl and picked up the folded napkin that was still laid next to his plate, he concentrated on arranging it in his lap as he said in a would-be casual voice, "I hate going to the Auror Office, always puts me in a weird mood."

"Why?" Harry asked, there was a kind little spark of genuine interest and sympathy in his voice, something usually reserved for elves or Weasley's, and it made the unease from war memories lessen just a bit.

"Why do you think?" Draco said, overwhelmed by the unexpected urge to tell Harry his problem. "It just reminds me of being arrested, all the time I spent sitting in the holding cells waiting for bail. All the shit I did to get arrested in the first place. The Aurors were such power-tripping wankers. They convinced me I'd be going to Azkaban, kept my lawyer from seeing me until bail was posted, I don't like being reminded of that." He took a few mouthfuls of soup to hide his embarrassment as his words hung in the air. He didn't want Harry to know how bad it had really been.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, as if it was his fault Draco had been lawfully arrested. "I tried to tell them you weren't dangerous or a flight risk, but I had no actual authority then, I hadn't even started training."

"I realise that," Draco said. "I _was_ a war criminal, I was guilty of the things they arrested me for, I didn't expect your hero complex extended to Death Eaters as well."

"Whatever," Harry said, not biting at the half-hearted insult, "it only took so long to get you out because your mother had been barred from contact with Gringotts, the goblins went crazy locking any Death Eater associated accounts. It took them a week to release _my_ gold for goodness sake, then it still had to go through the _Higgs, Smith and Sharfiq_ legal account."

"What?" Said Draco sharply, forgetting his self-pity, surely he'd misunderstood. Because someone would have definitely told him if Potter had bailed him out of prison.

"It had to come from your lawyers," Harry said as though apologising, "don't you think it would have been front page news if the Wizengamot registrar had known that I bailed out a Death Eater?" Harry half-laughed, "As if any of us needed _that_."

"But you didn't, my mother did." Draco was thinking furiously, he had tried so hard to forget that time, he rarely thought of the months following the war. He was so sure his mother had said she had paid… but all he could remember was the last time he'd seen her before he'd been released when she had said she would figure something out. He had just assumed she organised gold from somewhere, it wasn't like he had ever thought that she couldn't afford it, they had always had an endless supply of gold.

"No, it was me, I thought old Higgs would have told you." Harry said, looking uncertain, "It's really not a big deal, your mother paid me back before she left for Marseilles, years ago."

"I had no idea." Draco said faintly. He couldn't believe that not only did he owe Harry his life for the fiery broomstick rescue, and his sanity for the testimony at Draco's trial that kept him out of Azkaban, now he owed him his fucking pride as well? "Thank you Potter." He said through his teeth.

"Are you angry?" Harry asked, taken aback, "I didn't expect you to be grateful or anything, your mum saved my life, the least I could do was lend her some galleons," he looked at Draco imploringly, "I would've done whatever I could for her."

Draco nodded jerkily, _for her. _It was ridiculous that he was disappointed that Harry had done it as a favour to his mother, and not because … why? He didn't think Draco was evil? Or because he wanted him to be free? Or because he'd secretly had a crush on him forever and wanted to save him? _Pathetic_.

"Not angry," Draco said. he picked up his notebook from the table, his list of questions for Harry was easy to find, "Was the summer of ninety five the first time you found out that Arabella Figg used her cats to keep an eye on you?" he asked, his quill poised for the answer and his tone as business like as he could make it.

Harry looked at him, surprised but the abrupt start to their work, "Um, yes." He paused and then hurriedly said, "Look, Mal- Draco I assumed you knew, it really wasn't a big deal you don't owe me or anything."

"I get it." Draco said, striving for calm, but just sounding glum instead. "It's fine." He just wanted to leave. His visit to the Aurors coupled with finding out that the debt he owed Harry seemed to never end was quite bad enough. And then there was the fact that Draco really just wanted to shag the cheerful flirty bastard, but was very sure that would be a terrible idea. It all made him claustrophobic and exhausted.

Draco looked down at his list of questions and asked doggedly, "Did Cho Chang really have to hint that heavily to get you to ask her out for Valentine's Day?"

"Er, yes," Harry laughed again, slightly embarrassed, "but I was pretty pre-occupied, I was on my way to have private mind invasion lessons with Snape."

Draco nodded, scribbling Harry's answer beneath the question, and not looking up as he asked the next one in a monotone, "Was your meeting with Skeeter completely organised by Granger? And were you at all annoyed?"

"Yes she did all of it," Harry answered, "and a little I suppose, but it was for the best so I forgave her pretty quickly."

"Right," Draco muttered jotting down the reply, "Did you know –".

"Will you stop it!" Harry burst out, cutting him off. "Jesus you tell me to grow up, look at you, all in a snit because of something that happened years ago."

"I'm not in _snit_," Draco said indignantly, meeting Harry's eyes and trying to sneer the best he could, "aren't I allowed to be pissed off that you, once again, saved my arse without my permission?" He prodded angrily at his little book with the nib of his quill, accidently poking a hole in the page. "Noble Potter never asking for thanks, just doing it out of the good of his heart." He muttered venomously, unable to restrain himself.

Harry snorted, and said, "Please excuse my rudeness, I'll be more courteous next time you need help." It was quite obvious to Draco that Harry was trying not to laugh. Draco considered flinging a spoonful of his nearly finished soup at him as Harry continued, "Of course you're allowed to be pissed off. But you just said you weren't so…" he grinned, and shrugged, "it sure looks like a snit to me."

"Right, well I'm not." Draco said stubbornly, stirring the dregs of his soup and calming himself down by imagining his last chunk of potato hitting Potter square in the forehead. It worked, and he was pleased that when he spoke he sounded reasonable once more. "I'm angry that I was unable to pay for my own damn bail, that you had to do it and then, like some sort of pauper I can't even pay you back, my _Mummy_ had to do it."

"Understandable," Harry said easily, with another little grin.

Draco wanted to jinx it off his stupid face. He returned to his interrupted question, "Did you know that thestrals could fly such long distances before you used them to get to London?"

"Yeah, Hagrid had said Dumbledore sometimes used them for long trips." Harry said.

"How do you think Umbridge discovered you were out of bed the night Arthur Weasley was attacked by Nagini?"

"Filch or his cat." Harry said quickly, before he added, "Is it _really_ just this bail thing that's got you so shitty with me?"

"Yes," Draco said. And it was, just not only for the reasons he'd given. But he was not willing to broach the subject of his persistent crush, and endless debt, feeling the way he did right now. Instead he sought diversion, "I'm not _shitty _at you, I've just got a lot on my mind. This morning Marc and I figured out that someone in the Treasury Office is moving gold to a vault that isn't allocated."

"What?" Harry said, obviously taken by surprise at the sudden tangent. But Draco's distraction worked because Harry asked, "A vault that isn't allocated? That seems sloppy."

"It could be a huge deal, Ministry gold being handled suspiciously." Draco said, "There are two different listings for account fees, but one of them has a vault number attached."

Harry was quiet, apparently thinking, because after a moment he asked, "Why would they keep a vault for fees? They are such a pain."

"Exactly!" Draco said enthusiastically, impressed that Harry had grasped the concept so quickly and forgetting his snit. "It was an overflow for the war reparations and suddenly it's being used again. Except that Marc's contact in Registry doesn't know what for."

Harry looked concerned, "Do you think it's like … embezzlement or something?" he asked in a worried hush, as though there were Ministry spies afoot.

"Maybe, at the worst," Draco said, "at the least the ministry have a huge error in their budget that the public should probably know about."

"I'll say," Harry agreed fervently, "the longer something like that stays hidden, even if it's _not_ malicious, the worse the backlash will be when it finally comes out."

Draco was pleased Harry understood the repercussions, "Marc's taking it to Cuffe this afternoon," he said, "a story involving such important public figures needs to be thorough, and he'll have to collect his information by the book. But it could be the making of him, if he does it right."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, "You talk about him a lot," he said, then he flicked his finger back and forth between them and asked, "Does he know about this?"

"About the book?" Draco asked, thinking of Marc and his endless, 'Who's the boyfriend/afternoon shag?_' _routine.

Harry bobbed his head in confirmation, his was mouth twitching cheekily.

_Fuck it_ Draco cursed internally as he realised he had acknowledged that there was something other than working going on. It wasn't that he was denying it, he just thought it was better to keep things as complication free as possible.

"No, the only people that know about the book are the references for events, and they have all signed confidentiality agreements," Draco said, and then added a little proudly, "the tongue tying hex will be activated if they try to tell anyone about it."

"Is that legal?" Harry asked, sounding a bit disturbed.

"Yes, of course," Draco said huffily, "it's in the contract." As if he would break the law for a story with all the shit that was going on at the moment.

"Oh, alright." Harry said. "Well I hope the story goes well for him, at the same time though, I hope it's just an error, corruption in the ministry is so hard to stop. The public have only just forgiven us for the war – even though most of the staff were employed after Riddle fell." Draco noticed that Harry seemed to include himself as part of the ministry once more. He really must be serious about going back to work. "So what else do you want to know?" Harry asked with a nod at Draco's notebook.

Draco scanned the page, "I think that's everything," he said. "I suppose I'll need to talk to Longbottom about the fight at the ministry, even though I've heard it rehashed from the other side a thousand times."

Harry looked thoughtful, "I know Ginny is hardly likely to want to talk about anything involving me at the moment, and Ron was brained and Hermione knocked out, but you could talk to Luna about it, she managed to get though the fight almost unhurt."

Draco raised his eyebrows, thinking he'd rather have Zacharias punch him in the nuts again than have to face the girl who was imprisoned in the manor's cellar for months.

Harry seemed to read his mind, "Hmm okay, maybe Neville will be enough."

"Actually," Draco said, thinking of other points of view, and Smith, and the accidental punching, "Who else could I talk to about the DA?"

"I saw Hermione said Smith," Harry smiled ruefully, "little berk, I don't blame you for not wanting to talk to him."

"I will," Draco said, "if he's the best source." he flipped to the back of his book where he kept track of all the people he had, or needed to speak to. Most of Gryffindor House was listed, surely he could talk to one of them. "I remember that night," Draco said, "when we caught you, it seemed like there were hundreds of you, running in all directions."

"You tripped me up," Harry said, almost fondly, he rubbed his cheek, "God that hurt."

Draco remembered the moment quite well. Sending a trip jinx after Potter, the surge of triumph when he went down in a billow of robes and a huffed out expletive, before his face his the stone flags of the corridor floor with a sickening splat. And now Harry was sitting there smiling about it. He really didn't get how much Draco had hated him, he had really wanted Umbridge to hurt him.

"Why doesn't it matter to you?" Draco asked unable to help himself, "I took you to Umbridge, I knew she hated you, and that she wasn't above _anything_ if it got her what she wanted. I wanted you to get hurt."

"Really?" Harry asked, contemplatively, "I don't know, but nothing bad that happened at school really mattered, not til the night Dumbledore … you know."

"Yes." Draco hissed, shocked that Harry would be so callous, "of course I fucking know." He said angrily, unable to prevent his voice from rising.

"Yeah, well exactly," Harry snapped back, and suddenly he was angry. His eyes darkened behind his glasses and he continued relentlessly, "getting tripped up, given detention, writing in my own blood, even getting banned from Quidditch, it was piss compared to what was coming." He stared at Draco who refused to look away, this was the first time Harry had actually reacted appropriately to Draco's needling, and it was a little daunting. "I lived in a tent for nine months, I was nearly killed more times than I can count and was _actually_ killed once as well. Other than the Weasley's every piece of nearly family I have had is dead, and I was present, or at fault for most of their deaths. You can forgive me for thinking school-boy rivalry was hardly the end of the world."

Draco sat back in his chair, feeling more than a little told off. "I think that's my cue to leave." he said. The next few meetings were going to be rough if they couldn't talk about this stuff without fighting. He wanted to get out of there before things got even more hostile. _Preserve the working relationship_ his inner career-driven voice said.

There was no reaction to Draco's suggestion of departure. Harry was frowning heavily at his empty soup bowl, so Draco tucked away his notebook and quill and stood to leave, "If you send me your notes on sixth year we can get that done next week."

"I'm not looking forward to that," Harry said quietly, lifting his head, his cheeks were pale and he certainly looked nervous.

Draco tried to keep his expression impassive but he could feel himself glaring. The situation was becoming so complicated in his mind, constantly fluctuating between wanting to hex someone and wanting to kiss them was very tiring, "No, neither am I," he said impatiently, "but it's part of your life," He reminded Harry coolly, "and that's the whole point of this."

Draco slung his satchel strap over his head so it across his chest and said brusquely, "See you on Thursday."

"Thursday." Harry repeated, with a dip of his head.

Draco strode from the room as quickly as he could without letting Harry realise he was fleeing. It was the right thing to do, even if it made him feel cowardly. But arguing wasn't going to do them any good. This was exactly what Draco had thought would happen when Harry had first asked him to write his biography. They had too much history.

Draco realised as he left through the front door that he hadn't even asked about the Horcruxes Ron had mentioned. No doubt another light-hearted discussion they had ahead of them. Draco wondered dismally if he and Harry would even be speaking to each other by the time the book writing process was over – let alone still possess enough cordial emotion to consider anything other than a head-nod in passing acquaintanceship in the future.

To add to Draco's cheerless state the apparent temporary break in the rain ended as he hurried away from Harry's house, and as it started coming down in chilly sheets again he remembered his umbrella was still inside Number Twelve. _Bollocks.  
_

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**^V^**

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___**A/N:** Happy Nearly New Year! xx_


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N:** And finally: __**Chapter 10, Part 2 …. **__But it says 11! I feel like this is getting more confusing__**… **_

_Eh, Fuck it. _

_Look more story! It took ages, sorry about that. _

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Harry stared at the table top as Draco's fleeing footsteps grew quieter. "_Stupid stubborn twat,"_ Harry muttered as the front door shut noisily. He wasn't entirely sure if he meant Draco or himself.

_I probably shouldn't have shouted at him,_ Harry reasoned. But Draco just seemed to get more and more pissed off, no matter what he said.

All Harry had wanted to do was answer Draco's questions for the book and then, enjoy the fact that there was someone to talk to that wasn't his well- meaning, but smothering house-elf. And then, _maybe_, if there was time, snog a little. But now he just felt guilty for losing his temper.

Harry wondered if it was even possible for them to be friends. Their next meeting would contain discussion of the time Harry cut Draco in half. It really didn't seem likely to induce friendship.

"Master Harry, would you like seconds?" Kreacher asked, startling Harry out of his regretful torpor.

"No thanks," Harry said, finding a little smile for the elf, "it was very good though."

Kreacher nodded as he cleared the table, when he picked up Draco's bowl he asked, "Did you want Mr Malfoy to leave?"

"No," Harry said, a little entertained by Kreachers would-be casual question, he understood the elf's moral dilemma; blood master or bequeathed master, it must drive the elf mad. "I know you like having him here."

Kreacher gave a funny little twitch and said, "Mistress Black only shouted at people to make them leave, if you want Mr Malfoy to stay maybe you shouldn't shout?"

"Good advice Kreacher," Harry said regretfully, "Thank you."

A knock sounded from the front door on the floor above, interrupting him. Harry looked at his watch. It was only three in the afternoon, everyone he knew would be at work, and it wasn't like the Jehovah's Witnesses or Whale-savers could see Number Twelve to come knocking for brainwashing or collecting. The only person that visited during business hours was Draco.

Kreacher vanished with a crack from beside him, plates and all. Harry stood and made his way up the stairs, curious about his visitor.

"No, no, I'll wait here." Harry heard Draco's voice saying when he reached the top of the stairs.

There was the crack of Kreacher disappearing as Harry pushed open the door to the foyer. Draco was standing on the font step, in the meagre cover of the lintel overhang with the heavy, seemingly endless rain pounding on the steps behind him.

He looked up quickly at the sound of the staircase door swinging closed. "I left my umbrella," Draco said hurriedly, the moment he saw Harry.

"Oh right," Harry said, he didn't really care why Draco was back, he just wanted to part on better terms this time. "Look," he said, "I'm sorry about before."

Draco sighed, "Will you _please_ stop apologising to me," he said, and he sounded tired rather than pissed off. "Every second word that comes out of your mouth is _sorry_."

Harry thought this was a strange thing to be annoyed by, because he really was sorry, how else was he supposed to let Draco know that? But he shrugged and said "Okay, I'm not sorry about before, I meant every word."

"Better," Draco said, almost returning Harry's smile. Or rather, he stopped scowling.

"You can come in," Harry said, wondering if he was pushing his luck.

"Your elf is getting my umbrella then I'll be off." Draco replied. He was still upright and a little standoffish, perched on the step, trying to keep out of the rain.

"Was there nothing else you wanted to ask me?" Harry said, struck by sudden inspiration; Draco wouldn't feel like he was giving in if he came in to talk about work, "you did leave kind of suddenly."

Harry could have laughed out loud at the change in Draco's expression, his face seemed to clear in a second, and he said keenly, "There was actually," he took a step inside, seemingly without a second thought as he began to rummage in his satchel – for his notebook no doubt. "I remembered just before. Weasley said your weird dreams were because, and I quote, "of the horcrux thing" – when were you planning on mentioning that?"

"Bloody Ron," Harry said, but he was glad Draco had come inside so he answered, "I was worried it would give people ideas… you know, when they read about how unlikely it was that I was able to get them all and kill Riddle, someone might think it's a good way to become immortal."

"I understand that," said Draco, pausing in his bag search to look at Harry, "but unless you think that _I_ will decided to kill someone and make a horcrux because of your example, you still need to tell me so that I may figure out a way to present the necessary facts without accidently falsifying anything."

"Sorry," Harry said, "but technically I didn't know about them til sixth year so …" he trailed off.

Draco tutted, and resumed digging in his bag as he said sarcastically, "Right, because there isn't enough fun shit going on that year already, lets add the most evil magic of all."

Harry didn't quite hold in his laugh at Draco's ironic tone. "Sorry," he said again, "I can tell you now, if you want." He added only half seriously.

Surprisingly, Draco didn't make an excuse to leave, he just nodded and said "Okay." And then looked at Harry expectantly, his excavated notebook and quill in hand.

Harry was not willing to stand around talking about Horcruxes in the foyer, neither did he want to return to the scene of their previous argument in the kitchen, so he led the way up stairs to the drawing room, all the while wondering why it was taking Kreacher so long to find Draco's umbrella.

Harry plonked down in his favourite chair, and Draco on the nearest couch, he balanced his open book on his knee and with quill poised he said, "Right, what does you having visions of Riddle have to do with his horcrux?"

Harry sighed in resignation, "Well, firstly it wasn't just one – it was seven," He said, and Draco's eyes widened considerably, "and I was one of them. When he tried to kill baby me he'd already made five, a ring from his grandfather's family, a diary from his time at school, a locket that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin, a silver cup that had been Helga Hufflepuff's, and the d-diadem." He finished, falteringly, remembering all of a sudden that Draco had been sitting behind him on the broom when he had snatched Ravenclaw's heirloom from the feindfyre. God he was glad he'd gone back to get him that night. "They were all hidden, and safe," Harry continued, "Riddle was planning on making the final one with my death, Dumbledore said, because he wanted a seven part soul, but the charm my mother did stopped him. Then, before he fled as a '_shadow of humanity'_ or whatever you want to call it, part of his unstable soul latched onto me – the nearest living thing.

Draco swallowed audibly, his eyes now fixed on his scribbling quill, "Is that why you were alive when Mum checked?" His voice was very small, Harry suddenly wondered how he knew about horcruxes at all, let alone come to the conclusion that is removal could be part of Harry surviving when he shouldn't.

"Partly," Harry said. "I don't really know exactly why I didn't die – I had a super weird vision of Dumbledore explaining it all to me though – but since I imagined _that_, then I don't know whether or not to believe the things he told me."

Draco looked almost grey, "Okay," he said, "we can come back to that."

"Right," Harry said, collecting his thoughts, "so before the final night of the war, Riddle and I were sort of connected, but until I had the dream about Sirius in the Ministry in June of Ninety-six, neither of us had much control over it. In fact up until I saw Nagini attack Mr Weasley Riddle had no idea the connection even existed, but I'd been seeing things for more than a year before that."

Draco was whey-faced and slightly overwhelmed as he flipped through his notebook, "But I thought he possessed you, at the Ministry," he found his page and read, "'_but it was too painful for him to keep it up for long.' _Surely if part of his soul could live in you, he could also."

"No," Harry said, "the horcrux was just attached to me, it didn't have to share my soul like Riddle did for possession, and because he was so damaged inside, my 'whole' soul was painful to him."

Draco looked confused as he scrawled across the page, his quill becoming almost blurred with the speed of his note taking, "Why?" he asked, not looking up.

"I don't know," Harry said, "it was to do with me being so cut up that Sirius had just been killed, all the love overpowered his evil."

Draco nodded and continued to write, Harry sat in silence, waiting for the next question, but after nearly two minutes of quiet, interrupted only by the scratching of Draco's quill, he started to wonder if another question was even coming.

"My mother thought it was a shame," Draco said suddenly. Looking up at Harry again and shutting his book. "Sirius Black I mean, she wished to see her family continue in whatever way it could, when he escaped from Azkaban she and Father had an argument about offering him refuge if they could find him. "

"Really?" Harry asked, astonished.

"Yes, but of course my father didn't want to get caught harbouring a fugitive, even though he of all people knew Black was innocent." Draco tucked his book away and said wryly, "How do you think I knew enough about what he'd supposedly done to taunt you with it? Everyone else just thought he'd killed a bunch of muggles."

"That's mental," Harry said quietly, trying to imagine a world where Sirius had hidden with the Malfoy's in their luxurious house rather squatting in a cave, eating rats. He was willing to bet Sirius would choose the rats over living with Death Eaters every time.

"Sorry," Draco said, with a touch of discomfort, "it was impolite to bring that up."

"It's fine," Harry said, with a dismissive flick of his hand, "it's been seven years, I'm quite happy to talk about him." Harry didn't mention that he'd quite happily talk about anything at all if they weren't fighting. "It's weird to think he was the same relation to your mum as Rosie is to Victoire."

"Family is confusing concept with purebloods," Draco mused, "you're supposed to do everything you can to protect each other, but not because you love them, it's to protect the family name." he shifted a little uneasily on the couch, "I was a big supporter of the House of Black living on, though it was for my own selfish reasons."

Harry kept quiet, surprised that Draco was talking so freely about something that wasn't work, it was very unusual.

"I wished so often that he had beaten Aunt Bella." Draco said, sounding almost guilty, "she was almost worse to live with than Riddle, he at least didn't actively go looking for people to hurt."

"God that must have been shit." Harry murmured, before he could stop himself.

"Yeah," Draco agreed flatly, "it wasn't that bad in sixth year, not once my occlumency was good enough anyway; Bella thought that queers were quite as bad as muggleborns you see. _A hindrance to the magical birth rate._" He added bitterly. He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt absently as he spoke, and the longer bits of his hair fell forward over his face. "So while I was able to hide that, and I hadn't failed in my mission yet it was alright, Riddle came and went a lot but he wasn't living with us. It wasn't until after I … after the end of sixth, that's when everything turned to shit. Dad was broken out of prison, but the Dark- Riddle was so angry –" he stopped speaking quite suddenly, his fidgeting fingers curling on themselves, his jaw tight as he looked at Harry, quite obviously ashamed or embarrassed or _something_, at having said so much.

Harry though Draco was well within his rights to be upset by that period in his life. Harry had seen how life was inside Malfoy Manor, Draco being forced to torture people, prisoners held beneath their living quarters, the most repulsive of wizards infecting every corner of the house that he'd grown up in. Hideous. But hearing Draco say it made Harry realise how badly it had effected Draco, how horrible it must have been. He, Harry, might have been hungry and cold during the desperate camping trip, but hell, at least he'd been _free_.

"I had flashes of what was going on at your place," Harry said, not sure if he should speak at all because Draco was quite close to glaring once more, "I was starving and frozen but I didn't wish for a moment that I could be in your shoes."

"Of course you didn't," Draco snapped, "then you would have been an evil little git, instead of the heroic saviour of our world."

"Yes, that's why." Harry said, sarcastically, "No, at least I believed in what I was doing, suffering for a good cause."

"How do you know I didn't?" Draco retorted and even though the tone was waspish, it lacked the melancholy his voice had held previously.

"Don't be a twat," Harry said, not wanting to retreat to picking at each other for the sake of it. "I saw you lower your wand, and you refused to identify me."

"I didn't lower my wand, you fucking _stole _it". Draco said indignantly.

"No, not then," Harry said, "that night on the astronomy tower, Dumbledore said he could help you and you believed him, you lowered you wand."

"You were there?" Draco gasped, quiet clearly horrified, he glowered at Harry and said sullenly, "Of course you were there, you're always fucking _there_."

Harry thought that it was best not to comment, he debated calling Kreacher to find out why Draco's umbrella took an half an hour to retrieve, or to bring them some tea, or as he was feeling at the moment, whiskey.

But he didn't, he sat and waited for Draco to sort his internal frustration out. Harry was sure he was arguing silently in his head because his lips were white with the pressure of keeping them together and he was picking, rather more violently than necessary at a loose thread on his sleeve.

Keeping quiet was the right thing to do because eventually – after the thread broke and he had no more distraction – Draco said calmly, "Look Potter, we can talk about this another time, I need your notes before we do sixth year."

"Alright," Harry said, quite proud to have avoided an argument, "and the horcruxes?"

"Yeah same, I'll have to find a way to explain that without putting in too much detail, I don't think you're wrong to worry about a copycat at some point."

"Okay," Harry said, he just wanted Draco to understand that he didn't see him as the same person any more. That to Harry, those kids that had fought in the war were other versions of themselves. Because finally, now that he was free of the constraints of impending marriage and child rearing, he felt like a different person. In the last week he had achieved more of what Hermione would call something like "emotional growth" than he had since he first met the Weasley's and learned what it was like to have a family again.

"I'm going to go now," Draco said, but he didn't actually move, just picked up the strap of his satchel.

Harry really didn't want him to go yet, while they weren't actually fighting, the mood was still very sombre and the whole point of asking Draco back inside had been so he would leave in a better frame of mind. "Do you have another meeting?" Harry asked, trying to delay him just a bit.

"No," Draco said, "but it's been a long day and I don't really want to spend the rest of it arguing with you about the horrible shit I've done."

"So don't," Harry said quickly, "I have new whiskey, a spirit lifting nip seems in order."

Draco was easily convinced, "I suppose it couldn't make things worse."

Harry summoned the unopened bottle from the cupboard and two short tumblers, he poured a measure into each and nudged Draco's one across the coffee table to him.

Then he picked up is glass and said, "To not making things worse?"

Draco nodded, his dismal expression lifting slightly as he clinked his drink against Harry's. Then in what was obviously a concentrated effort to change the subject he asked, "So, what are you going to do with yourself? You seemed pretty certain earlier that you were done with hiding in this place."

Harry smiled, "Yeah, I really am. I think I'll talk to Robards about going back to work, even though it will have to be desk duty for a while - the reasons I wanted to leave haven't changed, arresting people while being asked for your autograph is a pain in the arse." He shrugged, a bit embarrassed, and half expecting a cutting '_poor-famous-Potter'_ remark, but none came, so he continued, "But you talking about that error in the budget … it makes me nervous, I don't want the public to stop trusting us again."

"If you didn't go back it wouldn't be your problem," Draco said, the whiskey had done him some good, already the edge was going from his voice. "You'd just one of the many – you could not trust the Ministry like the rest of us."

"But it would still be Ron's problem, and Hermione's," Harry said, "and all the guys in my old team, and anyway what the hell would I do with myself otherwise? I'm good at catching baddies, that's about it."

"And pouring drinks." Draco said holding out his empty glass.

"Right," Harry snorted, "I'll go and get a job in the pub shall I?"

"Why not?" Draco said easily, "You must have a decent amount of gold to be able to quit your job without any pre-planning."

"I have a bit," Harry said honestly, "but it's not enough to last my whole life, I still need to work."

There was a sharp and sudden knocking at the drawing room window, Harry looked around in surprise to see an owl he'd didn't know tapping its beak relentlessly against the window pane.

"What on earth?" Harry said. Owls that delivered his mail always dropped it off through the attic window, and Kreacher brought it down into the house. But this one was very persistent, Harry got to his feet and hurried to the window. He lifted the sliding frame and the bird hopped inside and flew directly at Draco who was still sitting on the couch.

"Oi!" Harry said, but the bird just dropped its letter on Draco's lap and pelted back out the open window.

"What the hell?" Harry said, shocked by the mad creature.

"That's Volo, Marc's bird." Draco said with a little chuckle at Harry's surprised face, "He's fucking nuts, but very efficient."

"Er, right." Harry said, he didn't want to appear nosy, but he quite wanted to know what the often mentioned Marc would be writing to Draco about. "Is something wrong?" he asked, as Draco frowned at the unfolded parchment.

"Maybe," Draco said, "more like weird." He held the parchment out to Harry who took it and sat down on the sofa next to him to read.

_Draco, _

_Mavis says Blishwick took over the quarterly budgets in January, they used to be done by the Assistant HoD, but Blishwick decided to do the whole thing himself the last two times. I saw Iris just after lunch, she said it's wizards who look after the Ministry's accounts, since the war the goblins don't want anything to do the government._

_I tried to talk to Cuffe this afternoon but Betty wouldn't let me near his office. I have this weird feeling she knows what we're up to but doesn't want Cuffe to know. _

_Come back to the office so you can tell me I'm just being paranoid. You must be done shagging by now, it's been __ages._

_Marc._

"Er," Harry said, stuck dumb by the final line. Was that what he was supposed to think was weird?

He read the beginning again, forcing himself to concentrate because Marc's last words must have been a joke.

Harry already knew that wizards working at Gringotts handled the Ministry accounts, their signatures were always on the bottom of the monthly stipend allocations that each department had to submit, one of them and the Head of Treasury signed off all Ministry spending, it was one of the safeguards put in place to stop situations exactly like the one Marc and Draco seem to have discovered. "Do you think this Betty knows something, or is involved somehow?" He asked.

"I don't know," said Draco, slumping back against the couch, holding tightly to his whiskey. "I've been hoping and hoping that it was all going to turn out to be a mistake, some daft newbie ticking the wrong box or something, but Mavis, that's Blishwick's secretary, says he's done them all himself, that seems very dodgy to me."

"It does," Harry said, leaning forward to pour himself a new drink, "it's also against the standardised protocol, but I suppose since Treasury sets the protocols around gold in the first place they can probably break them." He sat back as Draco had, took a sip form his glass and said, "If this is some sort of scam I bet I can guess who's helping them at Gringotts."

"Who?"

"Travers, he'd love to get one over on the Ministry, his family were taxed worse than yours."

"You mentioned that before," Draco said, "when I came to see you after you found out it wasn't me that poisoned you, how do you know how much tax they paid?"

"Junior Aurors are little more than paper lackeys," Harry said, "even when the Ministry was going mad trying to capture all the scattering Death Eaters and needed as many people as they could get, most of my intake spent more time signing off the arrest warrants, and filing incident reports than doing actual Auror work."

Draco looked rather stony at the mention of arresting Death Eaters. Harry felt bad for bringing it up again, after Draco had specifically told him that just visiting the department made him uncomfortable.

Harry didn't want to think poorly of the Aurors that had brought Draco in, no doubt people who had helped train Harry. But he'd heard the whispers in his first few weeks of training, he knew that some of the captives had been treated roughly.

Harry had spent May of '98 at The Burrow, mourning the loss of Fred and everyone else, with everyone else, eating every heaped plate Mrs Weasley put in front of him and shagging Ginny whenever they could find a moment alone.

The only contact he'd had with anyone was his lawyer. Obviously Hermione had not been qualified in such matters at that time, so he had used a doddering old fellow called Nigel Herbert that had looked after the Weasley family wills for the last century.

He had advised Harry through the organisation of Draco's bail for Narcissa, and the re-assignment and organisation of all Harry's assets and wealth. Including, Harry thought it was a little late, but the writing a will for the first time in his life. Something Herbert reiterated constantly that he should have done before heading off on a suicidal mission to kill the Dark Lord.

Mr Herbert was a little over whelmed at the process of writing a will for someone that actually had assets and heirlooms to bequeath, not to mention the gold involved – Molly and Arthur were very typical when it came to a Weasley family's economic status.

Kingsley had arrived on the 2nd of June, puncturing the oblivious little bubble that they had all been living in for the last month by requesting that Harry, Ron and Hermione lend their faces to the rebuild of the government. Something that none of them had wanted to do unless they had some say in what was going on – they hadn't really got it. Hermione started just above entry level in the Wizengamot administration, and Harry and Ron were both lumped in at the bottom of the Auror induction. But all three of them knew that if they were to have any actual credibly then they had to earn their place as much as the next wizard.

So, by the time Harry had any real idea of how the Aurors functioned, all the _looking-the-other-way-while-we're-at-war_ nonsense had stopped and there was a reasonable amount of structure (_paperwork_) in the arrest/hold-for-bail process.

"I remember the Travers one," Harry continued, "because I thought it was really steep – considering there was only one Travers on trial – normally it was worked out on a sort of sliding scale of number of Death Eaters in the family and how bad their crimes were versus how much gold they had."

"It's probably because of the sisters," Draco said, "Gilford Travers, he's the one is Azkaban, and his brother Willard who works at Gringotts, are the sons of the only boy born to Travers senior. He and his wife had five daughters as well, so there are plenty of blooded Travers around that aren't named because their mothers all made good pureblood marriages. Greg's grandmother was a Travers," he added conversationally.

"Greg?" Harry asked, not being able to think of anyone with that name aside from Greg Timms who was a first year Auror trainee, and he didn't think Draco would know him, or who his grandmother was.

"Goyle," Draco said, "you know, he was in our year –"

"Sorry," Harry laughed, "never thought of him having a first name before.

Draco grinned, "I'm not surprised, I don't think he was even aware of it half the time."

"I'd say you're right about the sisters," Harry mused, "I didn't particularly care about the Travers getting the shit taxed out of them at the time, the Ministry needed gold from somewhere. But that makes sense."

"I think you'll find most Death Eaters were quite used to paying their way out of trouble anyway," Draco said. "Getting _the shit taxed out of us_ was the least of our worries."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, and Draco made a tiny little tutting sound, and said, "You're always apologising."

"Sorry?" Harry said again, but with a sidelong smirk and Draco huffed out a short laugh.

"What are you sorry for?" He asked.

"Well that time was for annoying you with my constant apologies," Harry said honestly, "but I don't know, for everything I guess, I don't really want to say because you'll just get shitty again."

"I might not." Draco said

"Ha, whatever," he reached out and knocked his glass against Draco's, "to not making things worse remember?"

"Hmm," Draco nodded and threw back his last mouthful, "You'll have to give up your afternoon drinking habits if you go back to work," he said, "it's one thing for a journo to be a bit squiffy on the job, but an Auror? Even famous Potter would get the sack for that."

"True," said Harry. Reaching for the whiskey to tip another shot into Draco's empty glass, I'll have to find a new career then." He refilled his own and asked, "So what are you going to do about Marc?"

"I don't know, I'm not going back to tell him he's paranoid, because I don't think he is, and because he'll give me endless shit for drinking on the job," he smiled fondly into his glass and took a healthy gulp. "Do you know, he is _so_ obsessed with what I'm doing when I come to meet you. He decided this morning that I'm a prostitute –"

Harry choked on his mouthful "_Why?"_ He sputtered, although at least the cryptic parting remark on Marc's letter was explained.

"It's a long story." Draco laughed, "First he thought that I had a new boyfriend, and he's been taking the piss for weeks that I have time off to meet up with him, and then I mentioned that there had been a problem with my pay and he put the two together, rather loudly, and decided I'm a rent boy."

"Good mate by the sound of it." Harry said, joining in a little bemusedly as Draco continued to chuckle to himself.

"He is actually," Draco said after a moment, "suffers from the same unnaturalness you do." Harry frowned and Draco clarified, "He's bi, although I think it's actually just because only shagging one gender would limit his options. He's quite the whore."

"Charming," Harry said, finding the conversation much less amusing all of a sudden, "Have you and he ever…?"

"Argh, no," Draco said at once, his face scrunched up in distaste, "he's probably my best friend, well _only_ friend if you don't count Astoria, so no, not that he didn't try." Draco laughed, "Idiot."

Harry found it hard to smile at this, he felt a bit childish being jealous of the unknown Marc, he vaguely remembered Belby from school as having a load of dark curly hair and a wide smile, but that was all. "So you're not going to go and talk to him now about this Treasury thing?" Harry asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.

"No," Draco said, "I'll see him in the morning, even if he'll have worked himself into a complete flap by then." He leaned back against the sofa cushions and gave Harry a rare broad smile, "What would _you_ do about this?"

"Um," Harry said, momentarily distracted by Draco's lazy smile and the out-of-place hair falling into his eyes which were wide and honest, and looking directly at him. Draco blinked slowly and Harry realised he was not the only one that had probably had enough to drink considering it was only four in the afternoon. He looked away from Draco and it helped him focus, "I would find out what Betty has to gain from hidden money if you think she's involved," he said, "same with Blishwick … he was around before the new regime," Harry muttered, "you don't think he owes Travers anything?"

"He certainly owed my father a few favours," Draco said, and Harry glanced at him and saw he was sitting forward again, obviously trying to appear alert, "but I can't imagine Willard Travers has much pull, his brother may have, but he's as mad as a hatter by now, locked up out there." He shook his head slightly and asked suddenly, "Why do you insist on whiskey Potter?" he peered into his empty glass accusingly, "Can't you just drink beer like a normal person?"

Harry grinned and shrugged, "I find whiskey achieves the desired outcome more efficiently."

"That is the sort of thing an alcoholic would say." Draco said a little pompously, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

"An alcoholic wouldn't admit it," Harry said with a chuckle, reaching out for the bottle to refill his glass, "I like beer just fine, but if I want to have a _drink_ then it might as well be whiskey, less getting up to piss that way."

"You are vulgar." Draco complained, but held out his glass for a top up all the same, "Why did that girl think she needed to drug you – you say whatever is on your mind after a couple of drinks anyway."

Harry didn't answer right away, he sloshed a measure into each glass and screwed the cap back on before he said, feeling somewhat contrite, "She'd been waiting a long time for what she thought was inevitable, she shouldn't have gone about it the way she did but I'm at fault too, like you said, I shouldn't have been stringing her along."

"Pfft," Draco huffed, flicking a hand at Harry's knee, "I only said that because I thought you were using her for _sex_, if I'd known it was because you were having a sexuality crisis I may have been a bit more understanding."

"May have?" Harry asked.

"Would have." Draco said firmly, "Pansy still hates me for fucking her about for so long." He took a sip from his glass and didn't wince at all on swallowing, then he said regretfully, "At least you could play the game if you had to, not me. Totally utterly bent."

Harry stared, he wondered if he had the guts, he really wanted to talk to Draco about the other night, but he had no idea of the way things worked. Was it normal for gay men to kiss each other and then never speak of it again? Had Draco considered what a big deal it was to Harry to have kissed another guy, and enjoyed it? The whiskey urged him on, "Speaking of, er, being bent," Harry said, "I um, wanted to say thanks for your help the other night."

Draco's eyes snapped to him and Harry forced himself to keep his expression casual, "Thanks?" Draco asked. "I don't think I've ever been thanked before." His eyes glinted just a little bit as he the tiniest of smirks crossed his lips, "But I suppose you're welcome, it's not like it was a hardship," the smirk became fully fledged as he finished, "the Weaslette taught you well."

Harry laughed, embarrassed. "Don't call her that." he said.

"I could call her worse." Draco said pointedly.

"I did," Harry said, "to her face." He still couldn't quite believe how his sense of betrayal had caused him to say such awful things to Ginny.

"Good." Draco said, "There's nothing more unattractive than letting someone walk all over you."

"Does that mean you think I'm attractive?," Harry asked, he'd meant it as a joke, but somewhere on the way out of his mouth the question lost its humour.

"Obliviousness is also unattractive." Draco muttered.

Harry didn't quite know what to make of that, and it must have shown on his face because Draco rolled his eyes and said impatiently, "Do you really think I'd go kissing you if I thought otherwise?"

"Well I don't know," Harry admitted, "I did ask you to, to test the theory."

"You think I made a sacrifice in the name of science?" Draco asked, his mouth was still smiling, but Harry could see that he was confused too.

"Maybe?" Harry said, "I don't know how these things work, you're only the third person I've ever kissed for goodness sake."

This seem to stump Draco. He blinked twice and a little line appeared between his eyebrows. "Yes." he said.

"Yes? Harry repeated completely lost, "yes what?"

Draco sighed peevishly, but his little smile was still there underneath the Malfoy facade, "Yes, to the attractive question, _merlin_ keep up."

"Oh right, er, me too?" Harry said, hating that it sounded like a question. If there was one thing he was sure of at the moment over anything else, it was that he thought Draco was attractive.

Draco's annoyed look flickered briefly, and he seemed pleased, even if Harry was completely hopeless in any remotely romantic situation. Hopeless, but brave _(drunk)._

Draco's eyes widened a little as Harry leaned towards him, but then, just before Harry shut his own he saw Draco's lids flutter closed.

He was much calmer this time, whiskey really was quite marvellous, Harry thought.

* * *

**^V^**

* * *

_**A/N:**__ It turns out that writing a believable drunky-Draco is very difficult. You may blame the delay of this chapter on his primness. _

_Review? _

_George xx _


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